THE  ROBERT   E.  COWAN  COLLECTION 

I'KKSKNTKD    TO    Till-: 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

r.v 

•  C.  P.  HUNTINGTON 

JUNE.   : 

ss'ion  No   70001 


7. 


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BEN    NEB-O'; 


A    PILGRI.MAGE    IN    THE    SOUTH    SEAS 


IN      THREE      CANTOS. 


BY    H.    A.    STUART. 

[CALIBAN.] 


SAN     FRANCISCO: 

PRINTED  AND  PUBLISHED  BY  WADE  AND  COMPANY,  4  I  I   CLAY  ST. 
1871. 


79A&.1.. 

Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  iu  the  year  1870,  by  II.  A.  STUART,  in  the 
Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


OF  THB 

UNIVERSITY 


NOTES. 


"THE  THREE  KINGS  THESE!  INFIXED  AMID  THE  FLOOD." 

Page  7;  verse  1. 

A  few  leagues  beyond  iho  coast  of  the  northern  island  of  New  Zealand,  are 
three  stupendous  rocks,  rising  like  turrets,  from  the  sea.  They  are  visible  at  a 
vast  distance;  and,  seen  under  a  tempestuous  ^svmset,  present  a  spectacle  of 
singular  magnificence. 

"'TWAS  DARING  TASMAN  AND  HIS  ROVING  CREW 

WHO  FIRST  THESE  ISLANDS  IN  THEIR  WANDERINGS  FOUND." 

Page  12;  verse  3. 

New  Zealand  was  first  discovered  by  Tasman  in  1042,  but  he  did  not  land. 
The  natives,  however,  came  on  board,  and  some  intercourse  took  place,  during 
which  seven  of  the  Dutch  who  had  gone  ashore  were  cruelly  slaughtered.  The 
great  navigator  Cook  explored  these  regions  in  1770,  and  discovered  a  strait  which 
divides  the  country  into  two  large  islands.  The  southern  was  called  by  the  natives 
Tavia  Poenamoo,  and  the  northern  Eaheianowmawe,  names  which  equal  the 
Russian  in  length,  and  which  might  well  be  contracted.  The  first  is  not  less  than 
GOO  B.  miles  in  length,  by  150  in  medial  breadth;  and  the  second  is  little 
inferior  in  size. 

"  THESE  ISLES 
ARE  BY  BOON  NATURE  WITH  RICH  GIFTS  ENDOWED." 

Page  12;  verse  4. 

The  islands  of  New  Zealand  enjoy  a  temperate  climate,  similar  to  that  of 
France.  The  soil  is  exceedingly  fertile,  and  is  found  to  contain  minerals,  of  which 
gold  is  the  most  abundant.  The  natives  were — and  in  some  parts  are  still — canni 
bals.  They  are  of  a  brown  complexion,  little  deeper  than  the  Spanish,  and  many 
are  even  fair.  They  equal  the  tallest  Europeans  in  stature;  and  their  features  are 
commonly  regular  and  pleasing.  It  is  singular  to  observe  such  a  diversity  be 
tween  them  and  the  natives  of  Australia,  when  theory  would  expect  to  find  them 
the  same  race  of  men.  So  far  as  present  discoveries  extend,  the  natives  of  Aus 
tralia  and  Papua  seem  to  display  an  African  origin;  while  most  of  the  other 
islands  in  the  Pacific  appear  to  have  been  peopled  from  Asia. 


"THIS  MAORI  DREAD  WHERE  MANY  CHIEFS  HAD  DIED." 

Page  13;  verse  2. 

A  misprint:  it  should  be  Moral.  The  MORAIS  am  places  of  worship  whore 
the  aged  are  frequently  left  to  perish.  They  are  usually  lawns  shaded  by  trees 
esteemed  sacred.  Among  these  the  crateva  or  purataruru,  the  terminalia  glabi-a 
or  tara  iri,  and  the  dracena  tcrminalis,  are  the  principal.  Caves  are  occasionally 
used. 


"IN  GLEAMING  JAD  AND  MARO  WHITE  ARRAY'D." 

Page  13;  verse  3. 

Jad— a  green  stone  wrought  by  the  natives  into  ornaments  and  rude  tools,  with 
the  latter  of  which  they  are  ingenioiis  mechanics.  Maro— a  narrow  piece  of  coarse 
cloth  formed  of  flax,  in  the  same  manner  as  at  Otahcite.  It  is  passed  between 
the  legs  and  fastened  round  the  loins.  In  battle  the  men  throw  a  kind  of  mats 
over  their  shoulders;  and  this  armor  is  neatly  manufactured.  On  solemn  occa 
sions  the  chiefs  wear  dresses  ingeniously  composed  of  feathers.  The  women  huve 
only  a  slight  wrapper;  and  the  hair  is  cut  short  behind  but  turned  up  from  their 
forehead.  The  ears  are  ornamented  with  bits  of  jad  or  beads,  the  face  being 
often  besmeared  with  a  red  paint,  seemingly  iron  ochre  mingled  with  grease. 
The  heroic  actions  of  their  sires  are  perpetuated  in  legend;  the  voice  being  ac 
companied  by  a  rude  instrument,  shapen  like  a  lyre. 


"AND   FIXED   FOR   SEA   THEIR   LENGTHY   BARGES   LAY." 

Page  15;  verse  2. 

The  canoes  of  the  New  Zealanders  are  well  built  of  planks,  raised  upon  each 
other,  and  fastened  with  strong  withes.  Some  are  fifty  feet  long,  and  so  broad 
as  to  be  able  to  sail  without  an  out-rigger,  but  the  smaller  sort  commonly  have 
one,  and  they  often  fasten  two  together  by  rafters.  The  largo  canoes  will  carry 
thirty  men  or  more;  and  have  often  a  head  ingeniously  carved. 


"THUS,   WHEN  IN  DEATH  A  MAORI  LIETH  STARK." 

Page  19:  verse  1. 

The  New  Zealanders  inter  their  dead;  they  also  believe  that  three  days  after 
the  interment  the  heart  separates  itself  from  the  corpse,  and,  concealed  in  a 
shell  of  bark,  is  carried  to  the  clouds  by  an  attendant  spirit.  A  queer  belief, 
truly,  yet  not  more  preposterous  than  some  of  our  more  civilized  imaginings. 


"AND   SUICIDE,   THAT  RATHER  DOUBTFUL  ACT." 

Page  10:  verse  3. 

STiicide  is  very  common  among  the  Maoris,  and  this  they  often  commit  by 
hanging  themselves  on  the  slightest  occasions.  A  woman  who  has  been  punished 
by  her  husband,  will  very  likely  put  an  end  to  further  chastisements  by  the  aid 
of  a  halter. 


"HE  ATE  A  WHOLE  BOAT'S  CREW  AND  MADE  A  DEATHLESS  FAME." 

Page  21;  verse  3. 

The  Now  Zealanders,  as  beforo  remarked,  are  cannibals,  unless  where  Christiani 
ty  has  exerted  its  civilizing  influence.  The  bodies  of  their  enemies,  while  yet  warm, 
are  cut  in  pieces,  broiled  and  devoured  with  peculiar  satisfaction.  I  knew  a 
chief  in  Auckland,  who  vowed  that  he  had  assisted  in  devouring  a  party  of  Cook's 
men,  who  were  surprised  near  Adventure  Bay.  He  dwelt  on  that  feast  with  pro 
found  interest;  for  it  seems  "  tarpaulins  "  are  not  bad  eating;  and  a  cabin-boy  is 
said  to  taste  like  young  opossum. 


"PRIME  OVER  ALL  THE  ARTOCARPUS  REIGNS — 
MAJESTIC  MONARCH  OF  THE  TORRID  ZONE." 

Page  30;  verse  3. 

Of  the  plants  peculiar  to  the  tropical  islands,  the  chief  is  the  Artocarpus, 
or  bread  fruit.  This  valuable  tree  rises  to  the  hight  of  more  than  forty  feet,  with 
a  trunk  the  thickness  of  a  man's  body.  Its  fruit,  which  is  about  the  size  of  a 
twenty-four  pound  shot,  when  roasted  is  a  most  wholesome  nourishment,  and  in 
taste  resembles  new  whoatrn  bread.  For  eight  successive  months  every  year  does 
this  tree  continue  to  furnish  fruit  in  such  abundance  that  three  of  them  are 
sufficient  for  the  support  of  one  man:  nor  is  this  the  whole  of  its  value;  the 
inner  bark  is  manufactured  into  cloth,  the  wood  is  excellent  for  the  construction 
of  huts  and  canoes,  the  leaves  serve  instead  of  dishes,  and  of  its  milky  gluti 
nous  juice  a  tenacious  cement  and  bird-lime  is  prepared. 


ERRATUM.     Page  32;   verse  2.     For  '-enhance."  read  "enhance.." 


; Allah  il  Allah." 


INTRODUCTION 


PEOPLE  in  these  times  are  not  supposed  to  rank  poetry 
too  highly;  yet  there  are  some  who  are  not  above  verse,  and 
to  these  BEN  NEBO  is  directed.  Of  the  Poem  itself  I  shall 
say  nothing:  its  conduct  lies  among  the  South  Seas;  and  so 
far  as  the  description  of  the  natives,  islands,  adventures,  etc. 
are  concerned,  is  strictly  correct — all  being  drawn  from  personal 
experience. 

Ben  Nebo  is  an  imaginary  name  compounded  for  the 
occasion.  Nebo,  as  the  intelligent  reader  is  aware,  is  the  name 
of  one  of  the  summits  of  the  mountains  of  Abarim,  whence 
the  great  Hebrew  legislator  was  permitted  to  behold  the  Land 
of  Promise,  before  yielding  up  his  spirit.  I  chose  the  name 
because  it  struck  me  as  unique  and  cuphonius:  the  prefix 
"Ben"  is  simply  an  abbreviation  of  Benjamin — a  style  I  have 
also  adopted  from  mere  novelty,  and  which  is  seen  in  other 
names  in  the  poem,  thus:  Ned  Bastion,  Dave  Vangs,  etc.  I 
trust  no  harm  will  come  of  this  innovation,  though  perhaps 
more  toploftical  titles  might  have  a  better  effect  in  a  rhyming 
production;  but  if  the  characters  are  proper,  who  will  quarrel 
with  patronymics? 

Ben  Nebo,  himself,  is  a  fanciful  character,  created  for  the 
purpose  of  effect,  and  is  supposed  to  be  the  super-cargo  of 
the  trader.  He  may  be  a  rather  cynical  and  unamiable  per 
sonage;  but  for  this  I  am  not  accountable;  no  author  is  res 
ponsible  for  the  vagaries  of  his  creations. 


vii 


This  volume  contains  but  a  fragment  of  his  adventures; 
should  it  meet  with  favorable  consideration  I  may  follow  it 
with  another.  Its  reception  will  decide  whether  I  may  venture 
to  remove  the  hero  from  the  Pirate  Isle,  and,  conducting  him 
through  a  series  of  events,  restore  him  to  his  native  land: 
these  three  cantos  are  merely  experimental. 

As  regards  the  manner  of  the  verse,  I  have  chosen  that 
of  Spenser;  because,  of  all  other  styles  that  I  know  of,  it  ad 
mits  of  the  greatest  variation;  and  is,  therefore,  eminently  adapted 
to  a  subject  like  this,  which  is  somewhat  changeable  and  excur 
sive.  Should  failure  ensue,  it  must  lie  rather  in  the  execution 
than  in  the  design,  which  has  been  sanctioned  by  many  of 
our  greatest  poets,  among  them  Ariosto,  Thomson,  Beattie,  and 
the  mightier  endorsement  of  Byron. 

The  illustrations  are  photographed  by  Messrs.  Flaglor  and 
Perkins  from  original  designs  made  by  the  leading  artists  of 
San  Francisco:  Fortunato  Arriola,  G.  J.  Denny,  R.  G.  Ilold- 
redge,  Ed.  Richardson,  L.  F.  Ireland,  Frederick  Whymper, 
John  M.  Tracy,  Charles  Rodgers,  Eugene  A.  Poole  and. Pascal 
Loomis,  are  represented  by  characteristic  drawings. 

I  have  now  done  with  Ben  Nebo;  and,  while  I  feel  a  pang 
at  parting  with  so  familiar  an  associate,  I  trust  he  may  be 
able  to  outlive  the  storms  which  frequently  beset  a  new 
navigator  in  the  seas  of  literature.  Allah  il  Allah. 

S. 


DEDICATION. 


THOMAS  B.  LEWIS,  Esq., 

DEAR   SIR: 

The    following    Poem    being 

finished  and  about  to  make  an  entrance  into  the  world,  I 
know  of  no  name  among  my  circle  of  acquaintance  so  fitted 
to  honor  its  inscription-page  as  your  own.  Although  selfish 
reasons  might  bias  many  in  selecting  a  name  so  extensively 
and  favorably  known,  yet  I  have  other  and  nobler  considera 
tions  in  placing  it  at  the  head  of  this  volume.  Aside  from 
the  promptings  of  friendship,  your  qualities  as  a  man  and  a 
citizen  would  suffice  to  claim  a  tribute  like  this;  but  over  all 
there  rests  a  weightier  consideration — your  generous  but  unobtru 
sive  patronage  of  art  and  literature.  I  question  whether  there 
is  a  man  in  the  State,  who  "in  a  silent  way"  has  done  more 
to  promote  these  two  branches:  I  might  give  instances  but 
they  are  not  necessary. 

As  a  token  of  the  esteem  in  which  I  hold  those  qualities, 
I  offer  to  your  acceptance  the  following  Poem;    and  with  the 
wish  that  it  may  receive  your  approbation, 
I  subscribe  myself, 

Your  obliged  and  sincere  friend, 

H.  A.  STUART. 
SAN  FRANCISCO,  Oct.  23,  1870. 


OF  THP 

UNIVERSITY 


5 


BEN     N  E  B  O  ; 

A    PILGRIMAGE    IN    THE    SOUTH    SEAS,. 


CANTO     I . 

RETIRED  within  this  gloomy  cave,  that  stands 
All  lonely  on  the  sad,  sea-beaten  shore, 

'Tis  mine  to  sing  of  Ascian's  glowing  lands — 
To  plow  again  her  sparkling  waters  o'er, 
And  from  Oblivion  strange  events  restore. 

And  as  the  Genius  of  th'  eventful  song 

Exultant  springs  his  mingled  tones  to  pour, 

Deep-hidden  deeds  in  every  whisper  throng, 
And  chanting  Pity  weeps  as  roll  the  strains  along. 


The  sun  is  red  on  Australs'  flashing  main, 

And  fresh  the  wind  that  curls  the  rushing  foam; 
No  more  inert!    Upheave  the  lengthened  chain! 

We  must  away  o'er  distant  seas  to  roam; 

Self-exiled  from  our  fair  and  much-loved  home. 
On  deck  Ben  Nebo  stood,  and  sadder  grew 

As  darker  evening's  curtain  'gan  to  loam; 
And  oft  he  sighed,  as  o'er  the  surges  blue 
The  fond  familiar  land  receded  from  his  view. 


Now  out  upon  the  open  sea  we  ride, 

And  to  the  pressing  gale  the  vessel  bends; 

Her  sturdy  bows  push  headlong  through  the  tide, 
And  far  beyond  her  tapering  shade  extends, 
As  deep  astern  the  lurid  sun  descends; 

While  round  the  mast  the  sea-gull  circling  flies, 
And  to  the  watch  his  dirgeful  murmur  sends, 

Till  his  untiring  wing  sidelong  he  plies, 
And  melts  in  gloom  as  Eve  forsakes  the  darkening  skies. 


Beyond  the  boiling  wake,  his  eyes  in  vain 
Ben  Nebo  cast  to  view  the  fading  shore, 

But  shadows  loom  along  the  leaden  main, 

And  doubtful  outlines  gloam  the  distance  o'er, 
Where  waves  on  waves  in  chilling  fury  roar. 

His  native  land  has  melted  from   his  sight, 
But  Recollection  can  its  scenes  restore; 

Yet  many  a  joyous  image  cheers  the  night, 
And  weeping  sorrows  rise  like  phantoms  to  affright. 


"Adieu,  fair  land  !    long  years  may  first  revolve 
Ere  I  again  thy  vernal  meads  shall  tread — 
The  dreams  of  youth  in  frosty  age  dissolve, 

And  new  born  pleasures  mingle  with  the  dead, 
As  Time  with  chilly  wind  beats  round  my  head; 
Adieu,  fair  land!    I  love  thee;    yet  'twas  thou 

Gave  me  this  being  which  I  so  much  dread; 
'Twas  thou  sustained  my  infant  steps,  yet  now 
Self-exiled  from  thy  shores,  the  wintry  waves  I  plow. 


"Yet  why  should  I  complain,  since  all  are  doomed 

To  various  toil  by  ruthless  Destiny  ! 
Some  in  the  stifling  cell,  or  mine,  are  tombed — 
Some  rove  neglected  on  the  warring  sea; 
Yet  every  fate  is  such  as  it  should  be. 
Man  is  but  dust  in  Fate's  almighty  eye, 
Though  he  may  claim  to  immortality, 
And  deem  he  lives  when  dumb  his  ashes  lie — 
And  none  have  e'er  came  back  to  tell  him  how  to  die. 


"Man  is  but  dust  upon  the  wheel  of  life— 
As  it  revolves  so  he  must  circle  round  ; 
He  who  resists — in  the  unequal  strife — 
Is  first  into  insensate  powder  ground, 
While  still  unstopp'd  the  tireless  rim   will  bound. 
Man's  puny  arm  can  naught  of  use  avail, 

To  clamp  the  law  that  Fate  approveth  sound, 
At  best  he  can  his  helpless  state  bewail, 
Or,  if  foolhardy,  at  its  mighty  author  rail." 


Thus  mused  Ben  Nebo,  as  across  the  skies 

He  saw  the  stars  their  pathless  courses  thread — 
The  wondrous  planets  from  the  east  arise, 

Or  in  the  west  their  paling  lustre  shed  ; 

While  like  a  fiery  serpent,  overhead 
A  mighty  comet  meets  his  wondering  sight, 

And  fills  the  crew  with  superstitious  dread; 
Who  in  its  vast  array  of  ruddy  light, 
Behold  some  demon  fell  in  flaming  wrath  bedight. 


Majestic  wanderer,  wheeling  through  the  gloom 
With  none  to  guide  thee  in  thy  wayward  flight, 

WThat,  as  wind-fanned  thy  flames  terrific  loom, 
Doth  lead  thee  through  the  dark  involving  night, 
Or  steer  thy  bulk  'mongst  countless  spheres  aright  ? 

In  orb  erratic  doomed  for  aye  to  sweep, 

And  darkened  nations  with  thy  glance  affright; 

What  fate  is  thine  thus  tireless  on  to  leap, 
And  blast  with  quenchless  fires  the  vast  etherial  deep? 


In  vain  to  ask  :    our  thoughts  to  earth  are  prest, 

Though  some  inspiring  wish  exalts  the  soul 
To  rise  above  the  grosser  sense,  and  quest 
The  mystic  marvels  that  above  us  roll, 
Or  deeper  seek  the  spirit's  subtle  goal; 
But  ah!    such  flights  a  sober  mind   denies, 

Pleased  with  its  little  earthly-natured  dole — 
'Tis  but  the  wandering  thought  that  heavenward  flies, 
Or  to  pierce  what  is  hid  with  pride  presuming  tries. 


'Tis  folly  when  the  rigid  will  of  Fate 

Has  closed  the  Future  to  our  darkened  gaze, 
To  press  obtrusive  at  the  folded  gate, 

And  thread  unasked  the  unfrequented  maze ; 
For,  could  we  view  its  scenes,  anguish  might  craze 
Our  souls ;    or  we  might  see  in  dark  distress 

No  sign  of  bliss  to  cheer  our  ghostly  days ; 
If  like  the  ox,  man  is  no  more  nor  less — 
Death  snuffs  the  spark  of  life  and  all  is  nothingness. 


But  yet  this  cannot  be ;    there  is  within 

This  ashy  casket  something  that  will  glow 
When  Earth  has  claimed  her  poor  terrestrious  kin, 

And  all  that  lived  is  laid  forever  low! 

As  dust  no  more  of  lingering  grief  to  know, 
A  spark  ignited  at  a  deathless  fire, 

A  soul  immortal,  yet  alive  to  woe 
And  bliss,  still  having  that  which  will  inspire 
It  with  transcendent  light  when  all  its  dregs  expire. 

'Tis  this  that  lifts  the  man  above  the  brute, 

Exalts  his  mind,  and  .fires  his  soul  with  dreams 
Bright  and  incarnate — the  appointed  fruit 
Of  that  celestial  joy  which  ever  teems 
In  a  well  ordered  mind — a  mind  that  deems 
Its  great  Creator  the  sole  object  worth 

A  life-long  adoration ;   such  as  streams 
Spontaneous  from  the  ruder  tribes  of  earth 
When  in  united  strain  they  hail  fair  Nature's  birth. 

Sunk  are  the  bulwarks  of  the  winding  lands — 
On  every  side  the  boundless  sea  extends; 

Still  like  a  statue  fixed,  Ben  Nebo  stands, 

And  to  the  reckless  gales  his  anguish  sends — 
That  anguish  which  his  manly  bosom  rends ; 

For  he  was  one  whom  Fate  relentless  casts 
Upon  a  troubled  surge ;    nor  joy  descends 

To  shield  him  from  the  ever  howling  blasts 
That  shook  his  heart  like  winds  a  wreck's  unsteady  masts. 


"Roll  on  ye  waves!   ye  loud-voiced  breezes  blow! 

Your  mournful  sounds  congenial  strike  my  ear ; 
Although  there  falls  betimes  a  note  of  woe — 
A  mystic  sound  as  spirit-voices  drear 
That"  wail  of  pleasures  lost  and  sorrows  near; 
Still,  still  !    your  gloomy  diapasons  roll, 

And  bear  me  onward  as  ye  swift  career ; 
While  in  consonance  with  your  cries,  my  soul 
Shall  mingling  rise  and  sweep  through  Sorrow's  pensive  goal! 


"Shades  of  the  Past!   why  should  your  grisled  forms 

Eternal  haunt  my  vain-averted  sight? 
More  woful  ye  than  ocean's  windy  storms, 
Or  shaft  that  thunders  in  the  dreadful  fight, 
Or  bolt  that  hurtles  in  the  dead  of  night; 
These  though,  too  oft  with  wrath  unseemly  fraught 

Smite  at  a  blow,  nor  long  the  fated  fright, 
But  ye  with  deathless  pangs  my  soul  hath  taught 
That  of  all  barbs  none  vie  with   sorrow-haunting  Thought. 


"  Here  as  I  muse  amid  the  whirlwind's  wail, 

The  sea's  deep  sob,  the  mew's  complaining  cry, 
My  heart  pours  out  her  melancholy  tale 
Of  buried  joys  that  still  uncovered  lie, 
Though  darkly  sealed  from  each  obtrusive  eye. 
And  what  is  life  to  him  whose  bosom  owns 

Such  pangs  as  these  that  were  not  made  to  die? 
In  vain  for  respite  he  continual  groans, 
Or  flies  as  from  himself  to  earth's  remotest  zones." 


But  lo!  the  night  is  waning,  and  afar 

Morn's  early  blush  comes  dappling  o'er  the  verge ; 
Now  paler-gleams  each  white,  translucent  star, 

And  fairer  foams  the  onward-dashing  surge ; 

While  from  their  watery  beds,  the  gulls  emerge, 
And  shivering  sweep  across  the  wide  expanse. 

Still  on  her  course  fair  winds  the  vessel  urge, 
As  hope  beams  forth  in  every  wanderer's  glance, 
And  high  each  bosom  beats  as  round  the  waters  dance. 


Fair  was  the  voyage  till  on  the  hazy  lee 

The  Maori  shores  loomed  like  a  belt  of  blue, 

When  darkly  o'er  the  dim,  north-western  sea, 
A  murky  cloud  rose  ominous  to  view, 
And  whistling  winds  in  rising  gamuts  blew ; 

Anon  across  the  wild,  upsurging  tides 
Storm-boding  petrels  in  confusion  flew  ; 

And  the  fleet  porpoise  o'er  the  surges  rides, 
And  far  to  calmer  seas  his  shape  unwieldy  guides. 


Firm  at  his  post  the  sun-browned  master  stands, 
Yet  views  with  awe  yon  wind-announcing  cloud ; 

For  on  his  lee  appeared  New  Zealand's  strands, 
Half-hid  in  one  long,  dark  incumbent  shroud, 
And  far  beyond  with  devious  shoals  endowed. 

But  still  deep  versant  in  the  windy  jar, 

He  stood  alert,  though  hoarse  the  tempest  soughed, 

And  huge  o'er  many  a  circumjacent  bar 
The  frothy  breakers  raged  in  mad  vehement  war. 


He  stood  unmoved,  and  with  experienced  skill 

Prepared  his  ship  to  meet  the  coming  gale; 
E'en  now  resounding  through  the  rigging,  shrill — 

Tremendous  straining  on  the  belching  sail; 

While  rushed  the  seas  along  the  weather  rail 
Like  hoary  demons  thirsting  for  their  prey; 

Though  vainly  yet  they  can  her  sides  assail, 
They  rise  to  smite;    she  nimbly  glides  away, 
And  seems  with  those  dread  crests  like  a  coquette  to  play. 


Now  grouped  on  deck,  all  hands  in  dumb  suspense 
Watch  her  bold  course  along  the  watery  maze, 

And  as  they  look  to  windward,  looming  thence 
Like  some  weird  turrets  through  the  drifting  haze, 
Three  lonely  islets  strike  their  wond'ring  gaze; 

Upon  their  towering  cones  the  last  red  glare 
Of  dying  Eve  sheds  a  portentous  blaze, 

As  if  the  torch  of  Hell  had  kindled  there 
A  triple  fire  to  lure  sad  wanderers  to  despair. 


The  " Three  Kings"  these!    infixed  amid  the  flood, 

Like  sentries  grim  that  watch  the  outmost  shore 
Of  this  rude  land,  where  oft  barbaric  blood 

Is  made  in  sacrificial  founts  to  pour; 

When  the  fierce  shock  of  direful  battle  o'er, 
The  victors  haste  their  captives  to  devour; 

Like  ogres  foul,  exulting  lap  the  gore, 
And  deem  the  feast  their  gods  appointed  dower — 
Such  is  this  race  on  whom  a  genius  dark  doth  lower. 


But  who  shall  blame,  since  Naturfe's  self  doth  urge 

These  savage  people  to  such  horrid  deeds; 
'Tis  her  edicts  that  form  as  they  diverge 

Our  various  states,  our  actions,  and  our  creeds; 

And  who  can  say  her  influence  e'er  misleads? 
To  follow  Nature,  is  but  to  obey 

That  potent  voice  which  in  each  bosom  pleads 
Against  all  that  our  pleasure  might  bewray, 
And  seeks  to  guide  us  on  the  prime  appointed  way. 


All  men  are  vile!    but  Fate  has  favored  some, 
And  raised  them  o'er  their  less  enlighten'd  kind; 

Yet  all  from  the  same  dusty  substance  come, 
And  all  to  equal  follies  are  inclined, 
And  all  at  last  a  common  rest  must  find; 

Yet  earth-born  favors  shed  upon  a  few, 

Affect  them  so,  they  fancy  Heaven  designed 

Them  as  superior  to  the  general  crew, 
When  peradventure  they  more  loathsome  wiles  pursue. 


But  hark !   the  gale  with  added  fury  blows, 

And  wilder  from  their  chains  the  waves  are  cast; 
Still  to  the  storm  our  ship  her  canvas  shows, 

Fearful  to  reef  until  to  starboard  past 

Those  three  lone  isles.     Then  from  each  shiv'ring  mast 
The  belching  sails  were  shortened  in  amain; 

Laborious  task!    to  furl  in  such  a  blast,. 
Or  on  the  yard  a  footing  to  maintain 
\Vhen  deep  the  vessel  heels  as  ne'er  to  right  again. 


And  one  there  was  among  our  trusty  crew, 

Who  sought  the  lee  yard  arm — a  dangerous  post 

When  winds  like  these  so  energetic  blew. 

He  came  from  Candia,  somewhere  on  the  coast, 
And  in  his  youth,  as  he  was  wont  to  boast, 

Had  served  in  a  smart  Levantine  polacca; 
And  oft  among  the  Turks,  his  corsair  host 

Would  single  out  some  'ship,  board  her  and  sack  her, 
And  with  unchristian  gore  her  pitchy  timbers  lacker. 


Antonio  he  was  called;    nor  seaman's  life 

Than  his  career  had  e'er  so  chequer' d  been; 

With  stirring  acts  each  vivid  page  was  rife, 
Or  tinged  with  hues  of  many  a  florid  scene, 
Such  as  invest  youth's  morn  with  dazzling  sheen, 

In  manhood's  prime  again  he  swept  the  seas, 
That  stretch  the  weird  Malaysian  isles  a-tween, 

And  oft  as  flashed  his  silver-glinting  krees, 
He  gave  his  pirate  banner  to  the  piping  breeze. 


'Twas  said  he  loved;    that  disappointment  fell, 

With  its  enduring  sting  had  smote  his  heart, 
And  made  of  life  an  ever-burning  hell, 

Till  all  of  good  expired  beneath  the  smart, 
And  demons  rose  to  play  their  horrid  part. 
He  had  the  air  of  one  subdued  by  grief — 
Of  one  who  bore  within  a  restless  dart, 
To  whom  no  thing  of  earth  could  bring  relief; 
But  in  his  lightest  hours  black  Misery  was  chief. 


But  that  was  past;   the  blow  had  come  and  gone; 

The  wound  was  healed,  though  still  the  scar  remained ; 
And  oft  in  merriest  mood,  some  flash  upon 

His  soul  would  burst — and  there  awhile  detained— 

\Vrithe  with  a  woe  intense,  that  lingering  reigned 
Like  an  unconquered  sin;    till  Pride  would  bring 

His  iron  will  to  bear;    Peace  then  regained 
Stood  fast;    while  Memory's  envenomed  sting, 
Couched  in  her  lair,  prepared  to  make  her  cat-like  spring. 


\ 


Genius  of  ill !    that  ruthless  doth  awake 
The  buried  shadows  of  departed  years, 

And  on  our  souls  in  mournful  music  break 
The  dirges  of  the  dead;    and  bid  our  fears 
Rise  with  the  sound  dissolved  in  kindred  tears; 

Alas!    how  few  the  joys  thy  pencil  gilds; 

How  dark  the  scene  that  in  thy  lune  appears! 

When  retrospection  sweeps  the  vanished  wilds — 
Her  even'  backward  srlance  another  ruin  builds! 


He  who  hath  mused  until  his  mind  became 

A  boiling  gulf  of  fierce  tempestuous  thought, 
Where  fiends  disported  and  with  tongues  of  flame 

Up  from  the  deep  incessant  horrors  brought;. 

Must  by  such  woe — such  hellish  sorrow  taught — 
Have  cursed  the  hour  of  his  nativity, 

And  longed  for  respite — respite  even  sought 
In  cold  Occlusion's  shadowy  apathy; 
For  soul  may  keenly  feel  when  pulse  hath  ceased  to  be. 


And  thus  Antonio:    by  continuous  woe 

From  cheerful  man  into  a  demon  turned; 

His  sullen  breast  still  owned  the  fatal  blow- 
Still  for  one  shade  his  manly  spirit  burned, 
One  lovely  shade  in  sweet  devotion  urned; 

And  his  bronze  cheek  was  plow'd  by  furrow'd  care, 
The  signals  of  a  love  that  ever  yearned, 

That  ever  felt  its  yearning  empty  air, 
Till  it  recoiling  sank  a  prey  to  grim  Despair. 


Withal  he  lived— the  wretched  often  live- 
When  happier  beings  find  untimely  tombs; 

Each  Fate  their  proper  state  doth  rightly  give — 
One  suffers  here — one  in  immortal  glooms — 
As  good  or  ill  their  future  being  dooms, 

So  lived  Antonio;    till  the  awful  roar 

Of  coming  Death  through  his  rude  nature  booms, 

Calling  his  ghost  to  that  mysterious  shore, 
Whence  none  who  tread  its  maze  can  earth  again  explore. 


10 


High  swell  the  winds,  as  up  the  tapering  stay 

Antonio  springs.     Thence  on  the  yard  he  goes, 
O'er  which  in  cascades  huge  the  surges  play— 

And  there  the  napping  sail  he  snugly  stows. 

Whilst  thus  employ'd,  aloft  the  vessel  rose 
On  a  vast  wave,  then  plunging  lurched  a-lee; 

The  quick  convulsion  down  Antonio  throws 
From  his  loose  hold  into  the  whelming  sea, 
'  Gainst  which  he  long  did  cope  in  mortal  agony. 


Hoarse  o'er  the  deck  the  dire  alarum  ran, 
And  far  astern  the  rattling  life-line  sped — 

Uncoiled  in  vain;    swift  from  the  drowning  man 
The  stooping  ship  in  long-vibrations  fled, 
And  wintry  beat  the  wave  on  his  devoted  head. 

He  shouted;    but  his  shrill,  ear-piercing  cries 

Bay'd  but  the  winds  and  filled  our  hearts  with  dread 

As  fixed  perforce  we  stood;    whilst  from  our  eyes 
The  bubbling  drops  showed  how  we  mourned  the  sacrifice. 


'Twas  done!     The  drama  of  his  life  was  played; 

The  curtain  fell  and  all  of  earth  had  past; 
The  closing  debt  of  Nature  had  been  paid; 
The  full  account  of  his  existence  cast, 
And  the  obstructed  soul  was  free  at  last. 
Nor  should  we  mourn  him,  or  at  his  swift  fate — 

If  sudden,  not  untimely — stand  aghast 
Since  once  we  all  must  pass  the  dreadful  gate, 
And  to  the  crawling  worm  our  temples  dedicate. 


White-starred  Orion  sinks  beyond  the  deep, 
And  calmer  now  the  dying  whirlwinds  beat; 

The  seas  decreasing  gradual  sink  to  sleep, 
And  clouds  disparting,  still  on  pinions  fleet 
To  leeward  borne,  career  in  wild  retreat — 

Subsides  the  storm;    the  night  revolving  wanes. 
And  morn  awakes  our  weary  eyes  to  greet; 

Then  o'er  the  void  a  calm  unbroken  reigns; — 
Three  days  the  vessel  hangs,  nor  breath  of  wind  obtains. 


11 


Three  days  wind-bound  she  burned  beneath  the  sun 
That  cloudless  shot  its  fiery-natured  rays; 

When,  as  the  evening  shades  descended  dun, 
A  languid  breeze  across  the  ocean  plays — 
Its  urging  force  the  yielding  ship  obeys. 

Then  soon  upon  our  beam  a  coast  appear'd, 

Whose  vernal  heights  awoke  our  loudest  praise — 

\Vhilst  Expectation,  every  bosom  cheer'd, 
As  tow'rd  the  smiling  shore  our  wonted  course  we  veer'd. 


He  who  hath  tost  upon  the  restless  seas 

Whilst  months  unvaried  rolled  above  his  head — 

Dull  months,  surcharged  with  grim  uncertainties, 
And  all  the  dangerous  toils  the  deeps  bestead 
On  such  as  may  their  treacherous  mazes  thread; 

How  hath  he  felt  his  pulse  vibrate  anew 
When  slow  emerging  from  its  watery  bed — 

Thin  as  a  vapor  and  as  ether  blue, 
Some  land's  dim  outline  beamed  auspicious  to  his  view. 


High  beat  our  hearts  as  brighter  morning  grew, 

And  dim  revealed,  amid  the  purple  haze — 
As  silky  mists  aside  their  curtains  drew — 

A  lofty  shore,  to  each  expectant  gaze. 

A  shore  with  beauty  clad,  that  might  amaze 
The  ardent  Moslem,  who  in  feverish  dreams 

Foresees  that  blissful  land,  where  houries'  blaze, 
Sweet  gardens  bloom,  and  by  clear-tinkling  streams, 
The  faithful  gently  rest  while  joy  perpetual  beams. 


Such  this  fair  land.     Soon  on  the  placid  tide 
Near  quiet  Auckland  we  at  anchor  swing; 

Anon  with  rapid  keel  the  wave  divide, 

As  in  the  launch  our  sweeps  resounding  spring — 
To  shoreward  bent  on  subtle  bartering. 

The  strand  attained;    out  from  the  boat  we  leap 
And  join  a  troop  of  savages,  who  bring 

Barbaric  objects  all  cast  in  a  heap, 
Which  like  sly  Jews  they  vow  to  barter  very  cheap. 


We  met  these  natives  several  leagues  north-west 
Of  Auckland;    on  a  wide  and  barren  shore 

Where  spiry  fern-trees  waved  in  wild  unrest, 
And  rifted  rocks  with  yellow  lichens  hoar 
Strew'd  the  sea's-margin  in  confusion  o'er. 

Whilst  far  south-east,  a  lonely  mountain  rose, 
Whose  peak  no  foot  had  ventured  to  explore, 

For  thus  the  wise-men  say — the  legend  goes — 
That  round  its  granite  head  a  storm  malignant  blows. 


Extending  west  two  lofty  peaks  appear, 

Once  horrid  in  volcanic  energy, 
But  now  extinct;    bold,  rugged,  bleak  and  sere, 

They  sullen  stand  in  sad  torpidity, 

Whilst  round  their  craters  mingled  hideously 
Huge  scoria-blocks  oppress  the  rocky  sides, — 

Huge  lava-tracks  still  rug  the  blasted  lea — 
Or  from  the  ledge  that  land  and  sea  divides 
In  shivering  columns  yawn  above  the  chafing  tides. 


'Twas  daring  Tasman  and  his  roving  crew 

Who  first  these  islands  in  their  wanderings  found; 
When  hither  led  in  quest  of  countries  new; 

Then  heard  one  night  the  rolling  breakers  sound, 
The  next  at  anchor  lay  in  harbor-bound; 
Upon  thy  cliffs  Eaheianowmawe,  first 

His  vision  glanced;  yet  must  his  teeth  have  ground 
When  thee,  or  Tavia  Poenamoo,  he  burst 
From  his  torn  jaws.    Lud,  how  the  Dutchman  must  have  curst ! 


But  if  infernal  in  their  names,  these  isles 
Are  by  boon  Nature  with  rich  gifts  endow'd 

Such  as  few  lands  may  boast.     Yet  vicious  wiles 
Their  copper  hosts  in  a  dark  mantle  cloud. 
A  stalwart  race  are  they,  self-will'd  and  proud, 

Revengeful,  fierce,  and  as  a  tiger  cruel; 

.    Thus  when  a  foe  is  caught  th'  inhuman  crowd 

Consign  him  to  a  stack  of  blazing  fuel; 
Then  eat  him  with  the  gust  of  Scotchmen  eating  gruel. 


13 


Meanwhile  as  on  the  sandy  beach  we  stood, 
A   runner  from  an  ancient  chieftain  came 

Desiring  us  to  visit — if  we  would — 

His  kingly  home,  as  helpless,  old  and  lame 
He  lay  bed-ridden — living  on  the  fame 

Won  when  he  joy'd  in  manhood's  vigorous  prime. 
Ere  long  we  went — for  commerce  was  our  aim — 

And  led,   began  a  mountain-side  to  climb. 
Till  reached  a  grot  we  saw  a  relic  of  old  Time. 


Dark  was  the  grot,  worn  in  a  hollow  crag 
Impending  from  the  mount's  basaltic  side. 

Mete  dwelling  for  some  foul  night-haunting  hag; 
Or  yelling  ghost,  or  evil  thing  to  bide, 
Or  witch  her  spell  to  ply  at  eventide. 

Blood-freezing,  too,  as  Winter's  frigid  scowl, 

This  maori  dread;    where  many  chiefs  had  died; 

And  gave  their  flesh  to  the  carnivorous  fowl, 
Which  wheeling  overhead  in  doleful  flocks  did  howl. 


We  boldly  prest  into  the  gloomy  grot, 

And  soon  distinguish'd  through  the  twilight  shade 
A  withered  being  on  a  leafy  cot, 

By  a  slow  fire,  almost  untended  laid. 

But  one,  a  dark  and  pleasant-featur'd  maid 
Stood  by  the  couch  of  her  expiring  sire; 

In  gleaming  jad  and  maro  white  array'd, 
WThile  oft  she  smote  a  rude,  canorous  lyre 
As  if  to  soothe  the  soul  so  wrought  with  anguish  dire. 


But  when  the  dusky  maid  ourselves  beheld, 
She  ceas'd  to  play  and  trembled  in  affright, 

While  frequent  sobs  in  sad  succession  well'd 
From  her  lorn  breast.     Betimes  a  varying  light 
Glanc'd  from  her  eyes,  dark  as  the  noon  of  night. 

She  seemed  so  kind,  so  beautiful,  so  good, 
That  the  most  rugged  softened  at  the  sight; 

And  wrapt  in  wonder  bold  Ben  Nebo  stood, 
While  warm  Desire  aroused  the  current  of  his  blood. 


14 


Nor  deem  him  weak  within  whose  fiery  veins 

Love's  gushing  torrent  rolls  its  molten  stream, 
'Tis  Nature's  self,  this  wondrous  law  ordains, 

And  charms  the  sense  with  glowing  thoughts,  that  seem 
I  kit  the  wild  fancies  of  a  heated  dream. 
'Tis  Nature's  self  that  cheers  this  lower  state 
With  Love's  magnetic  and  exciting  beam; 
That  man  may  feel — and  feeling  recreate 
In  pleasures  which  the  dreams  of  Heaven  ante-date. 


But  if  each  breast  in  loving  tumult  heaved, 

Still  it  was  held  within  decorous  bound, 
For  all  were  with  the  sad  event  aggrieved 

And  sorrow'd  for  the  maid  in  anguish  drown'd; 

For  men  at  times  with  humane  hearts  are  found. 
And  gazing  on  the  chief — a  deep-drawn  sigh 

Foretold  th'  event.     Mad-like  he  glared  around, 
In   Death's  rude  grasp  convuls'd.     Then  glaz'd  his  eye, 
The  dank  sweat  stood  upon  his  brow — he  soon  must  die. 


Ere  long  he  went  the  ever  solemn  way 

That  all  must  pass  who  eat  of  mortal  food; 

And  as  inane  upon  the  couch  he  lay, 

His  beauteous  child  with  tears  his  brow  bedew'd, 
And  fragrant  flowers  upon  his  bosom  strew'd. 

Anon  with  pliant  hand  her  harp  she  strung, 
And  sang  his  praise  in  elegiac  rude; 

Sonorous  forth  her  plaintive  voice  she  flung, 
And  Echo  shrill  replied  the  answ'ring  woods  among. 


Ben  Nebo  heard  enrapt  those  ditties  wild, 
As  at  the  cavern's  mouth  he  pensive  stood 

Gazing  upon  the  maid,  by  love  beguil'd, 
In  feverish,  dreamy  and  uncertain  mood, 
As  passion  kindled  in  his  glowing  blood. 

Yet  he  was  not  of  common  dust;    he  dealt 
Severely  with  the  sports  of  Earth,   pursued 

By  her  poor  parasites.     Yet  now  he  felt — 
Ignoble  thought!    his  heart  in  soft  affection  melt. 


1.-) 


Nor  proof  against  his  love-inciting  glance 

^  Was  she — nymph  of  this  rude  volcanic  glade; 

Coy  in  her  tearful  eye  a  flash  would  dance 
That  could  alight  a  hermit's  bosom  staid, 
And  oft  had  havoc  of  lorn  striplings  made. 

Her  gaze  on  Nebo  fell,  and  added  flame 
On  his  awaking  love  was  surely  laid. 

His  whole  frame  kindled.     He  was  not  the  same 
Now  as  erstwhile  unto  this  feted  place  he  came. 

Ere  long  a  troop  of  Maori's  thread  the  cave, 

And  bade  the  maiden  hasten  swift  away; 
For  day  hung  trembling  o'er  the  western  wave, 

And  fixed  for  sea  their  lengthy  barges  lay; 

Obedient  to  their  will  she  ceased  to  play, 
And  sobbing  left  the  cell;    whilst  all  our  band 

Departing,  coursed  the  deep-descending  way. 
But  yet  afore  we  reached  the  open  strand 
Gray  shadows  stooped  upon  the  circumambient  land. 

And  when  the  sea's  wide  margin  was  attain'd— 
When  sooty  Night  her  veil  incumbent  spread 

On  flood  and  fell,  with  keen  emotion  pain'd, 
We  found  that  Nebo,  who  had  walked  ahead, 
Had  from  the  ranks  most  singularly  fled. 

The  alarum  given;    at  a  halt  we  stood, 

Unslung  our  firelocks,  and,  with  stealthy  tread 

Through  the  dark  glen  our  restless  search  pursued, 
And  oftentimes  we  paused  and  lustily  hallooed. 

In  vain;    but  Echo,  from  her  weird  recess 

Repeating,  murmured  to  each  wild  halloo; 
Till  with  misgivings  none  would  fain  express, 

We  stopp'd  awhile  uncertain  what  to  do; 

When  from  a  copse  near  by,  a  whistle  blew, 
And  instantly  a  shower  of  arrows  fell 

Among  our  ranks.     At  once  to  arms  we  flew, 
Pour'd  forth  a  volley,  which  produced  a  yell 
From  the  swart  wretches.     Then,  we  turned  and  crost  the  dell. 


And  on  a  ridge,  like  tigers  held  at  bay, 

We  kept  our  station  all  that  lingering  night, 

Unmoved  till  dawn;    then  formed  in  close  array 
We  made  a  charge  to  terminate  the  fight— 
We  charged,  and  put  the  savages  to  flight; 

Then  as  we  chased  the  panic-stricken  men, 
Our  hearts  no  mercy  knew;    but  grim  delight 

We  felt,  as  furious  through  the  rugged  glen 
We  gave  them  rolls  of  shot  until  they  howled  again. 

Still  Nebo  came  not;    nor  a  single  trace 

Of  him,  far  as  we  sought  was  visible. 
Sudden  he  disappear'd,   and  at  a  place 

Where  woods  of  densest  growth  o'er-hung  the  fell, 

And  splinter'd  chasms  yawned  all  terrible — 
Here  he  was  lost;    tho'  through  what  cause,  in  vain 

We  strove  to  know.     Still  most  believed  the  spell 
That  bore  him  hence,  was  that  pernicious  bane 
Of  weak-souled  man — a  woman — save  this  canting  strain! 


Is  woman,  then,  a  source  of  ill  to  man? 

It  cannot  be!     'Twas  Nature  sent  her  here 
His  ills  to  soothe,  but  not  his  ire  to  fan; 

To  temper  every  blast  that  circles  near; 

To  love  and  cheer  him  as  a  being  dear. 
For  this  she  lives;    and  as  your  husband  teaches, 

Your  matron  follows  up  her  part  austere- 
Hugs,  cooks,  doats,  toils,  and  even  neatly  stitches 
That  most  repulsive  thing— a  pair  of  worn  out  breeches. 


Is  woman,  then,  the  enemy  of  man? 

She  who  will  love  him  so  that  e'en  his  pants- 
Snip's  curse  upon  them!    pass  beneath  her  scan, 

And  those  sweet  eyes  that  kindle  at  a  glance 

O'er  torn  limb-covers  sharply  look  askance. 
Is  she  his  foe?     She  who  would  do  all  this? 

Hear  Echo  answer,  no!     What  can  enhance 
Man's  comfort  more — What  so  increase  his  bliss, 
As  a  sweet  woman  who  in  nothing  is  remiss? 


w 


A  truce  to  preaching.     As  the  sun  declin'd 

We  reached  our  boats  and  o'er  the  chafing  main 

Swift-pulling  sought  the  brig,  aggrieved  to  find 
No  sign  of  our  lost  comrade;    but  again 
Resolved  to  press  no  more  the  Maori  plain, 

Straitway  uphove  our  chain;    and  smart  the  breeze 
That  filled  our  sails.     Yet  as  we  toiled  amain, 

A  seaman,  on  the  beach  a  figure  sees; 
And  cries  vociferous  rise  in  sounding  melodies. 


Our  task  laborious  for  awhile  we  stay'd; 

Our  glasses  on  the  stranger  bring  to  bear, 
And  gladly  scan  through  the  involving  shade 

Our  bold  Ben  Nebo.     Soon  a  lusty  pair 

Of  oarsmen  in  the  gig,  no  labor  spare 
To  fetch  the  truant  to  his  pitchy  home. 

Thence  safe  install'd.  he  told  with  simple  air 
How  he  from  the  land-rovers  came  to  roam; 
But  we'll  be  brief,  for  all  he  said  would  fill  a  tome. 


The  cause  of  his  evanishment,  was  this: 

That  being  caught  in  Love's  pernicious  snare, 

He  had  determined — though  he  went  to  Dis — 
To  seize  the  dusky  maid — and  perforce  bear 
Her  to  the  brig.  Yet  ere  the  deed  he  dare 

Attempt,  a  band  of  Maoris  plac'd  amid 
A  thicket  sent  a  shower  of  arrows  fair 

A-past  his  ears;    but  the  thick  darkness  hid 
Him  from  their  aim.     He  fled;    and  where  a  pyramid 


Of  rock  arose  he  made  a  warlike  stand 

Against  the  cruel  hordes  that  battled   round; 

But  when  in  pieces  flew  his  shivered  brand, 
Death  had  indeed  the  misadventure  crown'd 
Had  he  in  timely  flight  no  refuge  found. 

Thence  safe  he  lay  conceal'd  in  forest  close, 
Whilst  serpent-like  his  crafty  foe-men  wound 

Through  the  dark  wood.     At  length  reliev'd  of  foes, 
He  sallied  from  his  lair  and  to  the  sea-shore  goes. 


18 


But  though  escap'd  with  life,  he  was,  in  sooth, 

A  man  of  grief— sad  to  the  last  degree— 
For  hopeless  Love  frowned  on  his  opening  youth, 

And  every  year  increased  his  misery; 

But  still  his  cup  full  as  it  seem'd  to  be, 
Was  yet  to  darken  with  a  deadlier  gall; 

A  wilder  wave  must  rug  his  angry  sea; 
A  dismal  blast  descend  surpassing  all— 
And  gloomy  Desolation  on  his  bosom  fall. 


Avast!    let  Luna-smitten  songsters  sing 

The  pangs  of  hopeless  Love  in  measured  state! 
We,  who  cold-blooded  are  in  every  thing 

Are  somewhat  skeptic  on  that  pensive  fate — 

The  ghostly  vapor  of  a  morbid  pate. 
If  such  there  be — as  poets  represent — 

Unhappy  lovers  forced  to  separate, 
And  moan  through  dreary  years  with  sorrow  shent, 
Then  by  the  gods  '  tis  well  when  they  with  earth  are  blent ! 


Three  weeks  revolve:    and  now  afloat  again 
We  sweep  excursive  o'er  the  lawless  wave; 

Nor  aught  of  ill  experience;    nor  restrain 

Our  course,  till  Farewell,  from  his  briny  grave 
Cloud-capp'd  ascends.     Then  rude  the  tempests  rave; 

But  nautic  skill  prevails  their  fury  o'er, 

And  smoother  seas  at  length  our  channels  lave; 

North-curving  now  we  seek  the  broken  shore, 
Press  through  the  boisterous  straits  and  see  the  Cape  no  more. 


Chain-bound  we  swing.     Ashore  the  seamen  leap; 

Engage  in  barter  with  a  swarthy  band, 
Who  had  of  native  wares  a  motley  heap, 

Such  as  are  wrought  by  many  a  skilful  hand — 

By  nature  taught — within  this  unknown  land; 
And  they — the  people — were  a  noble  race — 

Few  forms  so  perfect  eye  of  limner  scann'd; 
Yet  quaint  tattoo  disfigured  every  face, 
Where  untam'd  Passion  left  its  grim,  repellent  trace. 


10 


Uncouth  the  manners  of  these  vengeful  tribes — 

As  polar  night  their  minds  barbaric  dark; 
These  briefly  th'  untutored  muse  describes, 

Or  rather  customs  worthy  of  remark; 

Thus,  when  in  death  a  Maori  lieth  stark, 
They  think  three  days  from  thence,  his  heart  away 

Is  borne,  closed  in  a  shell  of  kouri  bark, 
By  a  huge  angel,  swift  to  climes  that  lay 
Beyond  the  molten  disk,  there  as  a  soul  to  stay. 


Here  in  the  midst  of  pleasure,  quite  at  ease 

The  hearty  ghost  maintains  an  envied  state — 
Alone  it  lives.     No  other  ghost  can  tease 

Or  maul,  when  once  't  has  left  its  fleshy  weight 

Like  an  old  chrysalis,  to  dessicate 
On  this  dry  earth.     But  in  that  blest  abode 

All  sorts  of  pleasures  tend  to  elevate; 
Which  to  enjoy,  should  make  a  man  unload 
Life's  mighty  burden,  and  pursue  so  fair  a  road. 


And  suicide,  that  rather  doubtful  act 
The  stolid  Maori  deems  a  proper  deed; 

Nor  on  the  couch  of  anguish  long  be  rack'd, 
\Yhen  from  a  scratch  an  artery  can  bleed, 
And  his  good  heart  from  every  trouble  freed, 

Find  sweet  repose  in  its  appointed  Heaven; 

But  women  most,  who  most  may  Heaven  need, 

Affect  this  sort  of  soul-exalting  leaven; 
And  to  one  man  self-slain  of  women  there  are  seven. 


For  instance,  'tis  a  very  common  thing, 

For  maids  to  whom  Love's  favors  come  amiss, 
To  end  their  mishaps  by  a  sliding  string, 

And  slip  their  souls  into  eternal  bliss — 

A  most  judicious  policy  is  this. 
Ay,  even  matrons  who  have  wrought  to  passion 

Their  loving  lords,  and  felt  a  cudgel  kiss 
Their  shoulders,  have  eschewed  another  lashin', 
By  cutting  their  dear  throats.     A  very  worthy  fashion. 


20 


And  quite  worth  copying  by  our  Christian  dames; 

As  then  of  nuptial  ills  there  might  be  less, 
And  less  of  those  debasing  midnight  games, 

That  sometimes  Wedlock's  votaries  distress, 

With  pangs  that  celibates  could  ne'er  depress. 
For  if  they  used  the  Maori's  hard  decree — 

That  wives  when  flogg'd  should  turn  to  nothingness, 
A  horsewhip  would  set  ill-match'd  couples  free, 
Silence  their  growls — egad!    and  help  morality. 


But  if  from  savage  ethics  we  should  scorn 
To  learn,  let  us  the  fierce  barbarian  view 

With  some  attention,  as  of  fable  shorn 
He  stands  in  his  primeval  nature  true, 
Disclosing  traits  that  moralists  may  rue. 

How  strange  the  phases  of  our  mortal  race! 
How  strong  in  all  is  evil  shadow'd  through! 

How  hard  to  deem  such  grovelling  things  the  place, 
The  shrine,  of  a  pure  flame  that  time  cannot  efface! 


But  who  shall  judge?     Perhaps  in  the  vilest,  dwells 
That  which  may  live  when  planets  have  expired; 

There  is  in  man  a  monitor  that  tells 

Of  an  immortal  something;    but  enwired 
In  fleshly  coils,  that  yield  not  as  desired; 

It  lies  in  cryptic  bars  imbound,  close  pent 
Like  a  caged  eagle,  whose  spirit  fired 

With  thoughts  exultant  as  for  Heaven  meant — 
Shackled  remains — a  soul — with  callow  ashes  blent. 


Terrific  thought!     Is  man  a  deathless  thing? 

Will  he  exist  when  known  no  longer  here? 
If  so,  'tis  well  to  give  up  vaporing 

And  trim  the  sails  anew;    nor  more  career 

In  those  fell  tracks  through  which  so  many  steer. 
Life's  but  a  dream — a  little  puppet  show — 

Compared  to  what  may  be  beyond  the  bier; 
If  all  its  years  were  prest  into  one  woe, 
They  would  not  make  the  wise  one  joy  of  Heaven  forego. 


What  is  this  world;    what  are  its  trifling  joys 
To  him  who  hears  the  last  sad  tocsin  sound? 

When  all  that's  beautiful  his  fancy  cloys, 

And  his  wan  sight,  where'er  it  glares  around 
Sees  but  a  hollow  in  the  yawning  ground. 

How  vain,  how  pigmy,  then  all  earth  appears, 
How  dread  the  future  deep  in  horrors  drowned, 

How  much  the  soul  the  doubtful  exit  fears; 
And  anguish  in  each  sigh  foreboding  Conscience  hears. 


Enough  of  this  cant,  theologic  stuff- 
Out  on  the  man  who  would  his  betters  teach! 

He  merits  for  his  pains  a  sound  rebuff; 

For  'tis  the  height  of  impudence  to  preach, 
Or  with  rude  sense  the  chafing  rabble  teach. 

The  wisest  mind  will  on  itself  revert, 

And  by  experience  warned,  like  flint,  to  each 

Gregarian  sentiment  remain  inert; 
The  dullest  student  thinks  the  wisest  tutor  pert. 


Whilst  thronged  upon  the  shell-bespangled  strand 
Our  men  a  commerce  with  the  blacks  essay 'd, 

The  chief  Tom-a-tee-wa-kee,  and  a  band 
Of  giant  guards,  a  first  appearance  made, 
Stalking  in  lordly  pride  the  vernal  glade. 

A  man  of  war  this  chief — his  endless  name 
Was  syllabled  afar.     'Twas  grimly  said 

That  when  Tasman  unto  this  island  came, 
He  ate  a  wrhole  boat's  crew  and  made  a  deathless  fame. 


As  on  the  beach  he  stood,  his  tawny  hand 

Vain-glorious  swayed  a  stony-headed  spear; 
Two  anklets  wrought  of  jad  his  ankles  spann'd, 

And  coral  drops  hung  pendant  from  each  ear; 

But  what  the  timid  most  did  strike  with  fear, 
Were  blood-red  patches  o'er  his  features  smear'd, 

So  that  he  made  a  figure  rather  queer 
To  contemplate;    but  woe  to  such  as  sneer'd, 
Since  in  his  own  conceit,  perfection  he  appeared. 


Nor  on  his  face  alone  vermilion  glowed, 

Big  rings  of  crimson  'bout  his  limbs  were  placed. 
Whilst  lurid  moons  in  hideous  glory  showed 

A  wavering  cluster  round  his  naked  waist, 

By  a  light  maro  negligently  braced. 
A  king  he  was:    beneath  a  moa's  plume 

He  stood  like  some  old  god  in  splendor  graced, 
Whose  glance  might  penetrate  the  farthest  gloom; 
Bid  Nature  smile  serene,  or  funeral  garbs  assume. 


But  most  he  gloried  in  an  ornament 

That  kings  had  seldom  worn  upon  their  backs, 

Save  when  upon  the  scaffold  overbent; 
It  was  but  a  ship-carpenter's  broad-axe 
Fit  to  fell  spars  or  beat  off  deck  attacks; 

Which  as  a  present  came  from  Captain  Cook, 
Who  sent  it  by  a  dozen  well-armed  jacks. 

The  shining  pledge  our  chief  delighted  took — 
Then  hung  it  from  his  neck  to  make  him  better  look. 


Meanwhile  we  traded;    and  like  traders  smart, 
Extoll'd  our  own  and  damn'd  the  Maori  wares; 

In  short,  engaged  in  every  trading  art — 

To  plant  our  coils  or  scape  our  neighbor's  snares: 
For  he  who  in  commercial  matters  spares, 

Is  a  mere  fool;    since  if  our  sight  be  true 
'Twould  be  as  safe  to  thread  brigandish  lairs 

With  a  fat  wallet;    as  in  business,  to 
Look  for  fair-dealing  when  so  many  like  to  jew. 

When  the  Sinopean  with  his  greasy  link 
Went  barking  out  to  seek  an  honest  man, 

He  must  have  been  a  little  daft,  to  think 

That  with  a  common  flambeau,  he  could  scan 
That  creature  never  known  since  time  began. 

Though  often  sought,  remaining  still  unknown; 
A  phoenix  in  the  great  creative  plan; — 

A  priceless  gift  from  human  bosoms  flown; 
Enough  to  make  a  god  though  held  itself  alone. 


23 


"An  honest  man's  the  noblest  work  of  God": 

So  wrote  that  curt,  incisive  genius,  Pope; 
And,  whilst  accordant  to  its  truth  we  nod, 
The  axiom  cuts  into  the  heart  of  Hope, 
And  Nature  vainly  emulates  the  trope. 
Withal,  the  world  survives  the  bitter  loss. 
Or,  if  it  feel,  can  with  its  sorrow  cope. 

An  honest  man  no  doubt — like  gold  in  dross 

Might  with  pure  lustre  shine;    but  who  would  bear  his  cross? 

To  be  eccentric  by  the  mob  is  deemed 

A  woful,  or  at  least  unseemly,  sign; 
An  independent  mind  is  ill  esteemed, 

By  oafs  who  never  trespass  on  the  line 

Which  Fashion  sets,  her  vassals  to  confine. 
Hence  woe  to  him  who,  in  this  piping  age, 

Would  as  an  "honest  man''  his  course  define 

Right  soon  would  he  in  Bedlam  find  a  ca^e, 
Or  in  inch  peices  rent  attest  the  public  rage. 

Go  to,  thou  preacher — cease  thy  irksome  strain! 

These  dull,  long-winded  dissertations  fly: 
Resume  thy  prime  discourse,  and  tell  again 

How  pass'd  events  our  hardy  seamen  by. 

Soon  as  dusk  Eve  in  shadows  brooded  nigh, 
A  maid  appears!     Fair  is  her  blooming  form,  ' 

And  coy  the  glance  of  her  expressive  eye; ' 
Long  are  her  locks,  and  red  her  lips,  and  warm 
Her  winning  smile— ' twould  take  the  coldest  heart  by  storm. 

Clad  in  such  charms,  no  wonder  if  this  maid 

Were  by  our  heroes  very  much  admired; 
For  man  is  with  such  wanton  thoughts  inlaid 

That  by  a  simple  look  his  blood  is  fired, 
^  A nd^  Reason  sinks  in  sodden  passion  mired. 
Pale  Virtue,  then,  completely  put  to  rout, 

Retreats  till  Pleasure  gains  what  Love  desired; 
^  Which,  after  all,  is  hardly  worth  a  flout— 
Venus  insidious  lures,  then  rudely  turns  you  out. 


24 


Pernicious  goddess!   sent  to  trouble  man 
With  thy  all-powerful— all-alluring  bane; 

Chief  of  our  ills,  since  mother  Eve  began 
To  long  for  that  whose  sad  effect  was  Cam— 
Whose  sad  effect  still  haunts  the  human  strain. 

Nor  with  the  heart  alone  thy  mission  ends; 
But  at  thy  mercy  oft  our  purse  is  lam; 

And  when  thy  worshipper  his  cash  expends, 
Cast  from  thy  arms  to  rot  the  hapless  wretch  descends. 

As  stood  the  maid  within  an  easy  ken, 

Ned  Bastion's  eyes  her  buxom  charms  explore; 

With  heated  blood  he  gazed,  deep  blushing,  when 
Her  eyes  gave  forth  their  hot,  electric  store, 
And  conjured  fancies  full  of  love  galore. 

She    too,  obedient  to  a  subtle  power, 

Felt  weird  sensations  through  her  bosom  pour; 

And  shivering  at  the  lad's  magnetic  lower, 
Shrunk  like  some  tender  plant  that  at  the  storm  doth  cower 

Ned  saw  her  tremor,  and  like  a  bold  tar- 
Never  to  war,  or  grog,  or  love  averse- 
Resolved  to  win  the  prize,  should  nothing  mar 
The  course  he  laid.     So  first  his  beaded  purse 
He  gave  to  smooth  the  way— ne'er  a  whit  worse 
For  such  fair  grading.     Then  his  wiles  he  plied, 

Till  close-besieged  Love  cried  for  quarter;   terse 
Was  his  answer.     As  fell  the  eventide, 
Afar  with  glowing  steps  he  bore  the  willing  I 

The  bull-horn'd  moon  above  the  woods  arose, 

Diffusing  round  a  pale,  mysterious  light, 
When  from  an  arduous  search,  the  sailors  close, 

And  meditate  on  Bastion's  sudden  flight. 

Some  wished  to  seek  him  even  thro'  the  night, 
But  others  on  the  project  sternly  frowned 

And  urged  it  best  to  wait  till  morn,  when  right 
They  could  the  wilds  explore.     Meanwhile  profound 
And  dense    confluent  clouds  the  waning  orb  surround. 


25 


While  yet  they  stood  in  doubtful  council  bound, 
Led  by  the  mate,  who  acted  as  their  chief, 

A  lengthen'd  yell  burst  from  the  woods  around, 
Grim-startling  all.     At  once  for  fell  relief 
To  arms  they  flew;    and  from  a  neighboring  reef 

Stood  fast — whilst    arrows  sped  in  whistling  showers, 
Sore-wounding  several — and  one  man,  Tom  Keef, 

Death-laying  on  the  rock.     Fierce  battle  lowers, 
Shots,  yells,  and  imprecations  fill  the  silvan  bowers. 


But  such  a  stream  of  missiles  on  them  rained, 
That  they  at  last  were  driven  to  the  beach; 

And  leaping  in  their  boats,  awhile  sustained 
The  brunt  unflinching,  pent  within  the  reach 
Of  the  barbaric  darts.     At  length,  when  each 

Had  half-a-dozen  hideous  injuries  got, 

They  desp'rate  grew,  together  made  a  breach, 

And  raked  the  foe  with  fusilades  of  shot, 
Whilst  heaps  of  swarthy  dead  begrimed  th'  accursed  spot. 


Meanwhile  they  set  the  carpenter  to  work, 
Who  of  some  timbers  built  a  sturdy  screen; 

Behind  this  all  the  crew  did  closely  lurk, 
And  fire  whene'er  the  crafty  foes  were  seen 
To  issue  from  their  covert,  and  between 

The  arching  trees  discharge  their  weapons  rude. 
But  though  our  men  maintained  a  dauntless  mien, 

The  Maoris  were  with  such  fierce  rage  endued. 
That  neither  vantage  gained  in  the  protracted  feud. 

While  yet  the  seamen  held  their  wav'ring  state, 
A  sullen  boom  rolled  o'er  the  ruffled  deep: 

A  signal  from  the  ship,  bidding  the  mate 

And  his  bold  comrades  from  the  battle  keep, 
And  swift  unto  the  waiting  vessel  sweep. 

They  heed  the  summons:    soon  her  pitchy  walls 
Receive  them  from  the  waves  that  warring  leap. 

The  windlass  arm;    and  as  the  tempest  falls, 
Heave  round  the  rattling  coils  tim'd  by  the  clanging  pauls. 


The  moon  recedes  beyond  the  misty  west 
And  all  around  but  foaming  billows  play; 

Swift  wing  the  frigate-birds  in  wild  unrest, 
And  shrieking  the  descending  orbic  bay, 
Whilst  fast  the  trader  plows  her  onward  way. 

The  land  is  gone,  no  more  its  rocky  arms 
A  shelter  lend,  no  more  its  shoals  betray; 

All,  all  have  pass'd,  and  sea-born  storms  and  calms, 
And  terrors  unexpress'd  here  vent  their  dread  alarms. 


CANTO     II . 

Ye  shrill  sea-breezes  that  so  plaintive  sigh 
O'er  the  bleak  bosom  of  the  sleepless  sea:— 

Sing  as  resounds  your  doleful  lullaby, 
Of  such  as  exiled  from  the  peaceful  lea, 
Feel  thy  sharp  fangs  in  full  severity; 

In  thunder  tones,  O  ocean!    roll  along 

The  dark,  dark  woe  of  those  whom  Destiny 

Dooms  o'er  the  lawless  wave  their  course  prolong- 
Cserulean  Neptune  join,  O  join  the  mournful  song! 


As  the  free  bird  that  cleaves  the  boundless  air 
With  nought  to  interrupt  her  forward  flight, 

So  once  again  the  dashing  sea  we  dare, 
And  fly  exultant  on  the  tempest's  might, 
While  swift  astern  the  billow  flashes  white; 

And  sweet  the  joy  we  feel,  when  piping  loud 
The  wild  wind  whistles  round  the  topmast  light, 

Strains  the  taut  sail  and  murmurs  thro'  the  shroud, 
Whilst  on  the  good   ship  flies  with  vibrant  force  endowed. 


27 


Lost  was  Ned  Bastion.     Oblivion  drew 

O'er  him  a  veil  which  none  could  penetrate; 

Nor  to  be  lifted,  till  with  hand  anew 
Upon  the  tablets  of  omniscient  Fate, 
Should  rise  expos'd  each  vague,  mysterious  trait. 

So  let  him  rest.     Nor  on  his  errors  dwell; 
Nor  anxious  on  his  doubtful  end  debate — 

Since  'tis  the  same,  where'er  we  cast  the  shell 
When  we  shall  cease  to  be,  all  equal  slumber  well. 


Cook's  fretful  Straits  have  far  to  windward  past, 

And  smiling  skies  inspire  each  hopeful  breast; 
The  course  for  Santelmo  is  set;    and  fast 

Before  fresh  aiding  gales  the  trader  prest; 

And  by  no  ill-presaging  sign  distrest, 
The  men  rejoice.     To  merriment  give  rein; 

Huge  canteens  flow — rude  music  adds  its  zest; 
They  dance,  they  revel,  and  they  sing  amain; 
And  long  as  storms  permit  their  jocund  sports  maintain. 


Ah,  could  we  thus  with  lithesome  folly  cheer 
The  cold  dull  round  of  this  attritious  life, 

Less  grim,  less  absolute,  it  might  appear— 
Man  less  with  upas  attributes  seem  rife, 
And  to  exist  require  less  bitter  strife. 

But  no!   this  is  a  dismal  place  of  tears, 

Where  to  each  heart  Destruction  holds  a  knife: 

He  who  with  mirth  his  cup  of  sorrow  cheers, 
Like  a  mad  clown  among  a  troop  of  ghosts  appears. 


\Vho  stranger  is  to  woe?     W7hose  breast  ne'er  felt 
The  arrowy  thought  of  that  terrific  hour 

WThen  flesh  shall  into  mould'ring  ashes  melt, 
And  all  that  lived,  at  Death's  corrosive  lower, 
Yield  all  its  beauty,  all  its  pomp,  and  power. 

Who  hath  not  trembled  at  the  very  thought, 
And  felt  the  sweetest  cup  of  pleasure  sour, 

That  all  he  loved,  lived  for,  and  wrought, 
Must  feed  the  livid  worm,  and  crumble  into  nought? 


28 


111  boots  it  what  our  state,  when  earthward  prone 
We  hear  the  clarion  calling  us  to  leave 

This  shallow  world,  and  enter  all  alone 

The  mansions  of  the  dead.     How  deep  we  grieve 
To  part,  for  on  this  little  scene  we  weave 

Those  fragile  woofs  our  wonder  and  delight — 
Alas!    so  often  shining  to  deceive. 

Poor  timid  things!     We  loathe  so  far  a  flight; 
Fearful  if  lost  the  way  we  plunge  in  endless  night. 


What  riseth  dimly  on  the  briny  verge 

With  rugged  peak  ascending  to  the  sky? 
'Tis  fair  Santelmo,  centred  on  the  surge, 
Aloof  from  all  the  isles,  that  clust'ring  lie 
Beneath  Ascian's  azure  canopy. 
Here  like  some  goddess  of  the 'deep,  she  stands; 

Whose  strength  alone  the  tempest  can  defy, 

Nor  Ocean  heed,  though  harsh  upon  her  sands 

He  leads  with  sullen  rein  his  rude,  impetuous  bands. 


As  to  our  gaze  the  island  plainer  grew, 

A  hideous  spectre  caught  each  startled  eye; 
By  whirlwinds  urged  across  the  deep,  it  blew 

Till  on  our  beam  it  foaming  thundered  by; 

Alarmed  we  saw  the  watery  spire  draw  nigh, 
And  steer  almost  athwart  the  traders'  course; 

While  round  the  billows  heave,  and  upward  fly, 
Till  one  huge  jet  revolves  with  lightning  force: 
Loud  howl  the  curling  winds;    seas  raging  bellow  hoarse. 


Our  gunner  comes:    the  starboard  guns  are  primed, 

Their  muzzles  on  the  watery  column  bear; 
Quick  as  the  vessel  lurched — by  order  timed — 

The  linstocks  on  the  nitrous  priming  flare; 

One  loud  concussion  rends  the  trembling  air. 
Re-echoing  ocean  murmurs  to  the  roar 

Deep  as  the  lion  thunders,  when  his  lair 
Invasive  feels  the  foe.     Down-crashing  pour 
The  broken  torrents  vast;    and  lo!    the  peril's  o'er! 


29 


The  transient  deluge  past;    our  course  again 

For  Santelmo's  uprising  shores  we  held; 
When,  as  the  glaring  day  began  to  wane, 

O'er  a  long  shelf  where  high  the  breakers  swell'd; 

Into  a  landlocked  cove  the  brig  impell'd; 
Here  laid  secure,  we  swing  at  anchor  bound 

Amid  a  scene  whose  weird  enchantment  spell'd 
Our  souls  as  with  a  talisman;    around 
Romantic  prospects  rose  with  nemorous   beauties   crowned. 


Soon  as  the  crimson  beams  of  daylight  rose, 
Away  to  land  our  men  for  water  rowed; 

Moor  near  a  fount,  whose  crystal  current  flows 

Low-bickering  down  a  ledge.     The  casks  they  load, 
And  strong-lashed,  in  appointed  order  stowed. 

This  done,  in  dalliance  for  awhile  on  shore 
They  roam  excursive.     As  along  they  strode, 

With  wistful  eyes  they  scan  the  landscape  o'er, 
And  muse  on  scenes  whose    like  none  e'er  beheld    before. 


Scenes  bright  as  visions  of  that  beauteous  home, 
Islam's  great  Prophet  promiseth  the  blest; 

Led  by  sweet  houries,  ever  pleased,  they  roam 
Through  fairy  regions  of  enchanted  rest, 
Where  suns  are  clear;    fields  alway  vernal  drest; 

Woods  thick  with  leaves;    and  flowery  all  the  dales, 
\Vhere  brooklets  wind;    and  o'er  the  lakelet's  breast 

The  sacred  bird  in  tuneful  joyance  sails, 
And  beats  with  flapping  wing  the  spicy-laden  gales. 

Here  in  this  isle  a  dreamy  beauty  reigned; 

Soft  overhead  the  fleecy  clouds  appeared; 
Harmonious  warblers  in  the  woods  maintained 

A  joyous  chorus  that  diffusive  cheered — 

Our  seamen  wondering  at  the  music  weird. 
Delicious  languor,  too,  her  elfin  woof 

Spread  o'er  the  lands.     Romance  each  spot    endear'd; 
Still  unimprest  by  man's  destructive  hoof, 
All-glorious  Nature  bloomed  from  human  wiles  aloof. 


30 


Here  the  wild  bee  pursued  its  droning  flight, 

Industrious  plunderer  of  the  honeyed  flowers; 
And  chiming  through  the  long  moon-shining  night 

Sad  campanero  tolled  the  waning  hours; 

Or,  sealed  amid  the  deep  umbrageous  bowers, 
Her  dual  note  the  lonely  cuckoo  plays; 

Whilst — keen  presagcr  of  approaching  showers — 
The  restless  heron  flutters  through  the  maze, 
Or,  from  some  blasted  tree  th'  aerial  tumult  bays. 


Eld  trees  arise:    grim  druids  of  the  wood, 
Long  since  beshorn  of  their  prime  loveliness, 

Solemn  they  frown  upon  the  solitude; 
Whilst  younger  monarchs  tenderly  caress 
Their  gay  companions,  and  with  pomp  impress 

The  neighboring  scenery.     Ten  thousand  dyes 
Imprint  the  glebe;    and  in  each  green  recess 

Sun-colored  fruits  the  dazzled  eye  surprise, 
And  the  prospective  still  in  varied  beauty  vies. 


Prime  over  all  the  Artocarpus  reigns — 
Majestic  monarch  of  the  torrid  zone — 

From  whose  all-generous  and  prolific  veins, 
As  winds  among  his  topmost  branches  moan, 
The  goodly  bread-fruit  is  spontaneous  thrown. 

Tree  of  the  countless  isles!     Thou  beauteous  thing- 
Thou  life  dispenser;    what  could  e'er  atone 

The  loss  of  thee?    whence  blessings  constant  spring: 
Nature's  auspicious  gift,  Ascian  muses  sing! 


Ascia's  dusky  race  thy  fruit  maintains; 

Thy  bark  a  shelter  offers  from  the  heat; 
From  thy  light  wood  the  swift  canoe  obtains; 

As  plates  thy  leaves  support  the  frugal  treat; 

And  from  thy  pores  glutinous  juices  sweet 
Distilled,  the  pangs  of  fiery  thirst  abate; 

Or  lime  exude  to  snare  th'  ortolans  feet; 
No  part  of  thee  is  waste.     Benignant  Fate, 
Thee  into  being  called  sharp  misery  to  rebate. 


Whilst  gazing  on  the  varied  prospect  round, 
On  a  tall  hummock  the  bold  seamen  stood, 

And  saw  immured  in  shady  groves  profound, 
A  hamlet  just  obtruding 'through  the  wood- 
Sole  sign  of  man  in  this  deep  solitude. 

Fired  at  the  sight;    all  caution  cast  aside; 
And  vowed  with  many  an  exclamation  rude, 

That  if  the  chief  should  not  averse  decide, 
To  reach  the  village  ere  descent  of  eventide. 


Permission  given,  at  once  they  haste  away, 

Led  by  the  mate,  and  well  supplied  with  arms; 
When,  just  as  shut  the  drooping  lid  of  day, 

Their  van  vociferous  the  watch  alarms; 

Men  sought  their  spears,  and  maids  conceal'd  their  charms. 
But  mauger  all;    they  m.arched  into  the  town— 

A  pretty  place  o'ergrown  by  waving  palms; 
When  soon  they  met  a  native  with  a  crown; 
He  was  a  king  they  found— else  they  had  knocked  him  down. 


Soon  as  he  saw  them,  his  sardonic  mien 
Vouchsafed  to  wrinkle  with  an  ugly  smile; 

He  turned  and  led  them  to  an  arbor  green, 
Where  he  was  wont  his  liesure  to  beguile, 
And  toy  with  maidens  loveliest  of  the  isle; 

Thence  he  produced  a  most  substantial  cheer; 
Flesh,  herbs  and  fruit,  and  fish  aglow  in  oil; 

And  bade  them  eat,  nor  aught  of  evil  fear; 
For  he  by  Nature  was  a  generous  cavalier. 


Withal  they  longed  for  an  inspiring  taste 
Of  crystal  whisky  or  brown-colored  rum; 

Either  of  which  when  ardently  embraced, 
Will  act  the  part  of  a  funereal  drum, 
And  tap  a  man  head-first  to  regions  glum. 

They  had  no  grog.     To  ease  this  want  severe, 
Old  cocoa-toddy  served  their  wits  to  numb — 

And  so  'twixt  many  an  oath,  and  many  a  leer, 
They  swore  their  host  was  quite  a  royal  grenadier. 


32 


Nor  stopt  his  bounty  here.     It  farther  spread, 

And  joys  provided  of  a  fairer  kind; 
His  guests  into  a  spacious  hut  he  led, 

And  to  each  tar  a  buxom  girl  assigned, 

In  whom  a  Pasha  might  new  pleasure  find; 
And  when  like  doves  the  wanton  throngs  were  paired; 

He  bade  a  fluter  raise  the  sounding-wind, 
Whereat  each  maid  her  agile  figure  bared, 
And  with  our  fervid  men  in  mazy  dancing  shared. 


Bismillah!    'twould  astound  a  sultan's  eyes 

To  see  those  dark  girls  in  that  amorous  dance; 

As  each  coy  maid  her  toil  enslaving  plies, 
Her  lover's  native  ardor  to  enchance 
And  steep  his  soul  in  Passion's  molten  trance; 

Whilst  as  she  swept  in  graceful  circles  round, 
Desires'  hot  wishes  flashed  in  every  glance, 

And  firing  at  each  warm,  bewildering  bound, 
Longed  in  fruition's  dreams  to  find  those  wishes   crowned. 


Out  on  the  dance!    it  is  the  vilest  thing 

The  cloven-footed  genius  ever  brought 
Into  this  world;   virtue  to  loose,  and  fling 

Light-headed  souls,  by  rapid  motion  caught, 

Into  the  gulf— or  better,  into  naught. 
Out  on  the  dance!     'Tis  in  the  giddy  reel 

The  plastic  virgin  Love's  delights  is  taught; 
When  made  the  pressing  hand  betimes  to  feel, 
Her  bosom  throbs  with  thoughts  'twere  safer  to  conceal. 


Forbear!     These  natives  are  a  comely  race — 

True  sons  of  Anak,  as  their  stature  quite 
O'er-topt  our  tallest  lad — Alonzo  Brace, 

A  Portuguese,  above  six  feet  in  hight; 

And  all  in  strength  display 'd  enormous  might. 
Unclad  the  men;    the  younger  women,  though 

Less  careless,  hide  their  graces  from  the  sight 
By  flaxen  aprons,  yet  contrive  to  show- 
Enough  of  charms,  whose  like  few  pale-faced  maidens  know 


33 


Both  sexes  use  tattoo;    dye  their  teeth  black; 

And  every  man  has  several  lusty  wives, 
Whom  he  as  serfs  compels  the  grain  to  stack, 

Hew  wood,  draw  water,  edge  his  flinty  knives, 

Rear  children,  cook,  and  first  the  honey'd  hives 
Bare-faced  attack.     Whilst  he  as  master  oft 

Loud-roaring  to  her  task  the  woman  drives; 
Thus  by  hard  usage  she  becomes  quite  soft, 
And  humbled  never  bears  a  haughty  port  aloft. 

The  native  king  was  quite  an  ancient  man, 

\Vith  power  despotic  vested  in  his  will; 
The  isle  was  his;    and  since  his  reign  began 

He  had  contrived  with  very  little  skill. 

One  half  of  his  unhappy  race  to  kill. 
But  he  was  king;    and  kings,  though  Common  dust, 

Would  lower  be  unless  they  loved  to  spill 
Blood  by  the  hogshead.     However,  Fate  is  just, 
And  kingly  souls  from  Heaven  may  old  Saint  Peter  thrust. 

He  had  a  daughter  with  great  beauty  rife- 
No  lovelier  damsel  e'er  was  ushered  in, 
(To  lead  an  easy  sort  of  useless  life) 

In  this  round  world  of  wretchedness  and  sin — 
Of  doubtful  virtue  and  distempered  gin. 
Lithe  was  her  form  in  dusky  charms  array'd, 
^  And  fit  her  glance  the  coldest  heart  to  win, 
For  Love's  delicious  wiles  by  Nature  made, 
She  reigned  the  queen  of  hearts  o'er  all  this  sea-girt  glade. 

But  sealed  within  her  breast  there  was  a  pang 
That  told  of  feverish  wishes  unsubdued — 

Of  sleepless  thoughts,  whose  adder-venomed  fang 
Wounds  deepest  in  the  hour  of  solitude, 
Nor  fails  to  lance  in  the  convivial  mood. 

Soul-piercing  dreams  that  fated  mortals  speed 

To  graves  unripe.     With  such  life's  road  is  strewed; 

Our  steps  along  these  hopeless  ruins  lead- 
Ruins  by  sad  affection  ever  doomed  to  bleed. 


O  Love!    what  is  thy  genius,  that  thou  must 

With  anguish  wring  the  too-confiding  heart? 
Pursue  with  terror  till  he  turn  to  dust 

The  hapless  wretch  destined  to  feel  the  dart; 

Yet,  yet  delay  the  soul  from  flesh  to  part! 
Thou  fatal  archer!     Tyrant  of  our  race, 

Ordained  to  smite  with  never-healing  smart, 
And  in  our  breast  a  beauteous  image  place, 
Which  if  in  youth's  prime  fixed  no  other  can  efface. 


Supreme  thy  power;   yet,  but  a  sacred  few 

Feel  its  effect  through  long  and  ling'ring  years; 
Whose  souls  are  tempered  in  a  furnace,  true — 

Whose  hearts  are  pure — -whom  misery  bathes  in  tears. 

These,  these  thy  ruthless  brand  delighted  sears; 
These  thy  delight  to  fill  with  sharp  unrest — 

Unrest  increasing  as  the  sand  careers; 
Till,  last  dread  refuge  of  the  grief  opprest, 
The  gloomy  grave  extends  its  cold  sequestered  breast. 


In  vain  earth's  shallow  joys  to  him  atone 
Who  mourns  the  loss  of  a  congenial  love; 

He  in  relentless  pathos  stands  alone, 

Like  some  lorn  tree,  that  singled  from  the  grove — • 
Smote  by  th'  electric  fury  from  above, 

Changed  by  the  shock,  becomes  a  ruined  spar. 
All  cheerful  beauties  from  its  nature  drove, 

Sad  droops  its  rifted  head,  and  every  scar 
Pernicious  speaks  its  fate  -and  heralds  it  afar. 


Enough,  enough,  forbear  so  dull  a  theme, 

The  dark  chimera  of  disordered  brains; 
'Tis  sickly  kinds  that  of  affection  dream; 

Or  think  its  bands  composed  of  iron  chains. 

Love  is  but  Passion,  changing  as  the  vanes 
That  restless  wander  to  the  veering  winds; 

A  moment  in  one  heart  perchance  remains — 
Then  with  frail  bonds  another  victim  binds; 
'Tis  like  true  Virtue  which  no  searcher  ever  finds. 


35 


It  chanced  there  was  among  the  crew,  a  youth 
Who  from  Tasmania  as  a  sea-boy  came; 

His  sire  had  been  a  ranger,  and  in  sooth, 
Upon  a  scaffold  tumbled  out  in  shame, 
Leaving  to  prison  writs  a  doubtful  fame. 

He  was  a  Maltese — Jack  Ispara  called — 

And  like  his  honored  sire  was  counted  game; 

At  least  his  spirit  never  could  be  thralled: 
He  beat  the  boatswain  thrice — and  once  the  skipper  mauled, 


Jack  had  a  lion  heart;   yet  he  was  famed 

For  his  success  in  acts  of  gallantry; 
Acts  so  profound,   Don  Juan  would  have  shamed 

Had  he  e'er  lived  to  hear  their  strategy, 

Or  to  behold  the  youth's  pomposity. 
But  let  these  pass;    to  prudes  they  might  appear 

As  spiced  with  something  of  coarse  ribaldry — 
And  we  are  moral  too;    Jack — it  was  queer- 
Would  charm  the  dullest  girl  by  one  good  sidelong  leer. 


May  the  good  Virgin  save  all  virtuous  maids 

From  such  dread  men    and  from  their    looks  oblique 

But  most  from  their  embrace,  which  so  degrades 
All  that  is  lovely  in  the  sex.  so  meek— 
The  sex  by  vulgar  error  reckoned  weak. 

May  all  the  angels- — if  indeed,  there's  any— 
Preserve  their  lower  sisters,  whery  men  seek 

To  blast  their  characters,  of  which  there's  many. 
Nor  deem  a  moral  man  no  better  than  a  zanv. 


Jack  saw  the  gentle  maid:     "Aha!'"  quoth  he, 
(As  on  her  charms  his  eye  admiring  shone), 
"This  buxom  maiden  is  a  prize  for  me; 

No  arms  but  mine  so  fair  a  form  shall  own — 

My  lips  her  cheek  impress  and  mine  alone," 

He  said:    then  sprang  his  amorous  arts  to  wield — 

Sighed  as  he  gazed  and  spoke  in  piteous  tone, 
When  soon  the  god  of  hearts  this  truth  reveal'd: 
That  woman  close-besieged  must  to  the  sieger  yield. 


36 


Love  knit  their  hearts:    he  stoopt  to  Beauty's  charms; 

She  blooming  youth  in  modest  zeal  desir'd; 
Love's  magnet  lured  to  warm  congenial  arms, 

And  Hymen's  torch  voluptuous  wishes  fired — 

Such  the  keen  joys  affection  fond  inspir'd. 
Ispara,  in  the  sweet  enchantment  hound, 

With  his  beloved  into  the  isle  retired, 
And  wandering  where  no  trace  could  e'er  be  found, 
In  secret  hid.     Success  their  resolution  crowned. 


Our  commerce  ended:    to  the  seas  once  more 

We  give  our  lives  and  our  storm-beaten  bark; 
While  sinks  astern  Santelmo's  azure  shore, 

And  rolling  clouds  arise  in  squadrons  dark. 

Winds  still  are  mute;    but  lo!   afar,  we  mark 
A  sable  cloud  upon  the  purple  sky 

Advancing  towr'd  the  vertic.     And  soon,  hark! 
That  melancholy  sough — th'  presaging  sigh 
Of  howling  winds  that  rack  the  starless  canopy. 

Adieu  ye  scenes  of  sweet  arcadian  bliss, 

That  to  our  eyes  your  varied  beauties  spread; 

How  fair  the  contrast  to  a  scene  like  this 
Where  jarring  tempests  rouse  the  watery  bed 
And  beat  inclement  on  the  wanderer's  head. 

Hoarse-sounding  from  the  hyperborean  pole 
The  windy  gods  across  the  billows  tread; 

Jove's  thund'rin^  bolts  along  the  concave  roll, 
And  the  terrific  scene  with  horror  fills  the  soul. 


And  fast  before  the  wild,  pursuing  waves, 

Like  a  winged  thing  the  shivering  vessel  flew; 

Whilst,  as  with  force  increased  the  tempest  raves, 
Green  fear  glowers  on  the  pale,  despairing  crew, 
Who  sick  at  heart  their  doleful  station  rue. 

But  Fate  at  length,  with  milder  aspect  frowned; 
Fixed  to  a  point  the  hoarse  tornado  blew; 

North- west-by-west  we  scoured  the  bleak  profound; 
Three  weary  weeks  elapse  and  terrors  still  confound. 


37 


Low  did  she  stoop  among  those  boiling  seas, 
Whilst  every  joint  rang  out  its  sad  refrain, 

As  if  with  voice  endowed,  its  miseries 

To  chant  unto  the  rude,  tumultuous  main, 

On  which  full  many  a  heart  had  toiled  in  vain, 

As  roared  the  billows  in  malignant  glee; 

And  many  a  tender  heart  had  mused  amain 

When  the  shrill  night-winds,  driving  o'er  the  lea 
Have  piped  around  the  home  of  him  who  plowed  the  sea, 

At  length  the  hlust'ring  winds  began  to  lull  — 
The  seas  to  sleep — the  clouds  to  break  away; 

And  the  awaking  sun,  emerging  full, 
Gave  cheering  promise  of  a  calmer  day, 
And  roused  our  spirits  with  his  smiling  ray. 

Again  the  long  imprisoned  sails  are  spread, 
Whilst  aiding  gales  in  strains  alluring  play; 

Nor  more  the  wind-god's  hellish  wrath  we  dread; 
Peace  gilds  the  shining  wave;    the  long,  long  storm  has  fled. 

"A  sail,  a  sail!"  the  watch  sonorous  cries, 

And  at  the  cry  all  hands  expectant  gaze; 
"A  sail,  a  sail,"  the  master's  voice  replies, 

As  through  his  glass  he  sweeps  the  distant  haze, 
And  with  attention  a  dim  speck  surveys; 
Soon  round  the  deck  the  sad  announcement  goes, 

And  every  face  emotion  dark  betrays; 
She  is  a  proa — fellest  of  the  foes — 
Who  in  these  lonely  seas  commercial  barks  oppose. 

And  now  she  squares  the  rising  gale  before, 
^ Fresh  canvas  spreads  and  for  our  vessel  steers; 

Whilst  from  each  port  the  long  resounding  oar 
Aglow  with  foam  in  serried  file  appears, 
And  cannon  loom  above  in  frowning  tiers. 

As  the  swift  vulture  on  its  quarry  flies, 
So  to  her  prey  the  fierce  Sumatran  veers; 

Till  fancy  seems  to  hear  th'  exultant  cries 
That  crown  the  triumph  of  her  darkling  enterprise. 


No  season  this  for  craven-like  delay, 

For  fast  the  corsair  draws  within  the  range 

Of  her  bow  guns.     At  once  to  bear  away 

The  orders'  given;    anew  our  course  we  change, 
And  north-west  scud  for  Fijiian  waters  strange. 

Three  hours  we  fly;    when  lo,  a  jet  of  smoke 

Springs  from  the  proa's  head,  and  poor  Will  Stange, 

Falls  bleeding  to  the  deck;    his  shoulder  broke 
By  a  huge  splint  rent  from  the  counter's  solid  oak. 


The  fearful  spectacle  our  vengeance  woke, 
And  swift  a-port  the  carronades  we  ran; 

Then  as  the  proa  cleared  her  smoky  cloak 
We  luffed,  and  sudden  thro'  her  teeming  van 
A  broadside  pour'd.     And  now  the  fight  began 

In  real  earnest.     Shots  incessant  stream; 

Small  arms  resound;   and  louder  o'er  the  span 

Great  cannon  roar;    anon  a  piercing  scream 
Foretold  some  wretch  had  closed  lifes'  miserable  dream. 


But  fate  is  everything.     A  plunging  shot 
From  out  the  proa's  forward  chaser  sped; 

It  struck  the  mainmast;    from  the  riven  spot 
A  splinter  issued;    one  sailor  dead, 
Another  wounded  on  the  deck  it  spread. 

These  to  the  sick-bay  we  at  once  convey'd, 

Clear'd    off  the  wreck,   the   mainmast's   tottering    head 

With  sturdy  tackle  in  position  stay'd, 
Then  to  the  brunt  of  war  like  bold  tarpaulins  laid. 


Unbent  the  contest  till  the  veil  of  night 

In  deepest  shade  the  grim  combatants  hid, 
Then  ceased  contention;    though  the  gory  fight 

Might  yet  begin  when  morning's  waking  lid, 

Diffusing  lustre,  should  the  hostile  bid 
To  arms.     But  as  auspicious  winds  prevailed 

And  darkness  favored,  we  resolved  to  rid 
Ourselves  of  the  Malay.     Away  we  sailed, 
And  many  leagues    had  crost  ere  Heaven's  beacons   paled. 


39 


As  sunk  in  light  Bootes  silvery  car, 

And  from  the  vertic  fled  the  Northern  Wain, 

We  gazed  across  the  heaving  deep  afar, 
But  saw  no  proa  ply  the  chase  amain 

'    All-furious  bent  the  battle  to  maintain; 

Clear  were  the  seas,  far  as  we  questioned,  clear; 
Pleased  at  the  sight  our  courage  we  regain; 

And  urged  tow'rd  Fijiian  Isles  three  days  career— 
When  lo!    what  mystic  coasts  upon  our  lee  appear! 

His  chart  the  master  scans,  but  scans  in  vain, 
.  Whilst  dark  suspicions  o'er  his  senses  creep; 
No^isle  here  marks  the  hydrographic  plane, 
Unsounded  billows  here  unbroken  sweep- 
Still  as  he  looked  upon  the  frowning  steep, 
In  full  relief  against  the  azure  thrown, 

With  quicker  force  his  throbbing  pulses  leap, 
And  added  lustre  in  his  vision  shone; 
He  first  had  found  this  land,  unto  the  world  unknown 


He  slyly  laughed,  and  when  his  sextant  showed 

The  true  location  of  this  nameless  isle, 
He  almost  seemed  to  feel  Fame's  crushing  load 
Upon  his  shoulders  press,  in  such  fine  style 
That  he  ranked  far  above  the  common  hie. 
tor  he,  like  humans  all,  was  soft  on  fame, 
^  And  to  be  famous  would  as  lief  exile 
The  few  poor  virtues  which  adorn  a  name, 
Or  raise  man  o'er  the  brute,  by  instinct  much  the  same. 

Oh  for  a  voice  like  some  gruff  auctioneer 

To  curse  the  mischiefs  that  proceed  from  fame- 

\\  hich  like  another  Eve,  has  settled  here 
To  spread  ^a.wide  the  scathing  blast  of  shame, 
And  Satan's  larders  fill  with  human  game. 

Of  all  the  ills  in  life's  portentous  list, 

Fame  is  the  worst.     She  is  an  artful  dame, 

Who  pouts  her  lips  but  rarely  can  be  kiss'd 
And  when  within  our  grasp  most  suddenly  is  miss'd 


40 


She  is  a  jilt — the  deuce  to  every  heart, 
A  queen  with  every  wicked  fancy  fraught; 

Withal  admired,  and  lured  by  every  art; 
Since  few  desire  to  be  accounted  nought, 
Or  die  without  one  battle  being  fought; 

For  men  are  fond  of  rising — like  good  leaven- 
More  bent  on  teaching  than  on  being  taught; 

Still,  where  one  floats,  of  sinker's  there  are  seven; 
And  after  all  there's  doubt  if  this  ONE  gets  to  Heaven. 


And  man's  a  pompous  creature;    like  a  crane, 

Though  placed  on  earth  he  lifts  his  head  on  high, 

And  often  soars  above  his  low  domain, 
As  if  his  nature  was  to  upward  fly 
And  in  remoteness  dodge  the  sharpest  eye. 

Vain  fool!    however  far  he  chance  to  soar, 
His  clumsy  shape  the  dullest  sight  can  spy, 

And  though  gay  plumes  his  carcass  cover  o'er, 
'Tis  but  a  man  beneath — a  paltry  man — no  more. 


"Fame  is  a  rose  upon  a  dead  man's  breast "- 
So  saith  the  proverb— but,  my  lad,  belay; 
This  tiresome  canting  now  should  surely  rest; 
Preaching  is  folly  when  it  fails  to  pay- 
So  quoth  the  canters" of  the  present  day; 
And  taking  their  advice,  our  moral  strain, 

Like  a  coiled  halser,  shall  in  storage  lay 
Until  the  spirit  moves  us,  when  again 
We  may  resume  our  theme  and  sermonize — in  vain. 


Ben  Nebo  stood  upon  the  deck,  as  Eve, 

Deep-blushing,  gleamed  across  the  purple  surge; 

And  pensive,  saw  the  ruddy  glimmer  leave 

The  western  skies,  and  glowering  o'er  the  verge 
Slow-paced  to  Night's  engulfing  void  emerge; 

He  heard  the  billow's  sob,  the  mews'  shrill  cry, 
The  fitful  zephyrs  melancholy  dirge, 

Till  Thought  awaking,  with  a  deep-drawn  sigh 
Joined  the  sad  chorus  with  her  plaintive  lullaby. 


41 


What  cometh  from  the  gloomy  realms  of  death, 
With  graceful  step  and  form  of  fairest  mold? 

Whilst  soft  as  summer  winds  expiring  breath — 
As  bells  that  tinkle  from  some  distant  fold, 
Or  music  from  some  seraph  harpist  roll'd, 

Her  voice  melodious  steals.     Ben  Nebo  wakes, 
And  shudders  at  the  beauteous  phantom  cold, 

Whose  glance  the  frozen  seal  of  memory  breaks, 
And  bids  him  breathe  anew,  while  Hope  expectant  quakes. 


"Ye  moaning  billows  chant  of  Nora,  dead — 

Nora  who  perished  in  the  bloom  of  youth! 
Ye  sea-winds  wail  so  fair  a  spirit  fled! 
Ye  mermaids  sing  the  desolating  truth! 
And  you  ye  dolphins  hoarsely  groan  in  ruth 
Of  her  whose  exit  all  my  being  wrings — 

Discourse  of  Nora!     Left  forlorn,  in  sooth 
No  joy  to  me  a  gleam  of  pleasure  brings, 
But  melting  dirges  Love  in  chime  funereal  rinsrs. 


'O* 


"Her  beauteous  form  is  now  insensate  dust; 

Long  years  of  anguish  prove  her  exit  true; 
And  I  have  felt  upon  my  heart  the  rust, 

The  blight,  the  canker,  of  a  grief  which  few 
Have  felt  tho'  lives  of  sorrow  passing  through. 
And  since  the  hour  that  gave  her  to  the  tomb. 

This  weary  pilgrimage  I've  learned  to  rue; 
Yet  Fate  forbids  an  issuance  from  the  gloom, 
Till  th'  appointed  blow  completes  my  ling'ring  doom. 


"Fair  Nora  sleeps!    her  sweet  voice  now  is  mute, 

No  more  its  cadence  can  my  senses  please; 
Her  palsied  hand  no  more  awakes  the  lute, 
No  more  her  lips  in  ringing  symphonies 
Of  Love — sad  Love — resound  the  elegies. 
Her  woodland  pets  their  darling  mistress  mourn, 

But  Time  their  grief  oblivious  shall  appease, 
Whilst  I,  less  favored,  wailing  still  forlorn, 
Of  hapless  Nora  chant,  untimely  from  me  torn. 


42 


"For  her  no  more  the  wreathy  crown  I  twine 

As  when  we  roamed  in  days  to  memory  dear; 
For  her  no  more  enweave  the  fragrant  vine, 
Or  lure  the  minnow  from  the  streamlet  clear. 
Still,  still  of  her  I  sing  in  strain  austere, 
As  fits  the  dismal  tenor  of  my  soul; 

And  oft  methinks  her  spirit  hovers  near; 
Her  elfin  dirges  with  my  meanings  roll; 
O  beauteous  shade  awake  and  with  my  grief  condole! 


"I  then  might  know  what  I  shall  never  know, 

A  gleam  of  bliss  these  shadows  to  dispel, 
And  lifting  up  the  weight  of  crushing  woe, 
Make  life  appear  less  a  terrestrial  hell, 
Where  Pleasures  rarely  flit — where  Sorrows  dwell; 
I  then  might  be  what  I  was  in  time  past — 

A  firm  believer  in  the  flimsy  spell, 
That  man  was  in  a  sacred  image  cast — 
Which  like  all  things  of  earth,  experience  proves 'avast"! 


The  loud-voiced  boatswain  cries,  as  crawling  aft, 
Some  order  to  a  forward  tar  he  gave, 

Who  with  a  gang  was  taking  in  the  gaft. 

Soon  as  his  tones  rang  o'er  the  sounding  wave, 
Ben  Nebo's  plaints  found  a  remorseless  grave; 

As  up  he  sprang,  shook  off  his  dreams,  and  stood 
Like  one  resolved  such  evil  wraiths  to  brave, 

Or  crush  at  once  the  ghastly-natured  brood, 
That  with  relentless  scowl  accurst  his  solitude. 


Shrill  blew  the  winds  and  fast  our  keel  impell'd 

Into  a  placid  and  majestic  bay; 
Green  woods  upon  the  heights  adjacent  swell'd, 

Where  cawing  birds  in  various  plumage  gay 

Reshot  the  lustre  of  th'  meridian  ray. 
Far  as  the  eye  could  range,  new  prospects  rose; 

Hills  roll  on  hills  and  mountains  Heay'n  survey; 
Soft  on  the  strand  the  deep  meand'ring  flows, 
And  Nature's  added  charms  a  perfect  scene  compose. 


43 


And  here  no  sign  of  human  life  was  seen; 

No  rural  hamlet  peeped  between  the  wood, 
No  lonely  hut  appear'd  upon  the  green, 

No  vocal  murmurs  from  the  savage  brood, 

Broke  the  dead  silence  of  the  solitude. 
Far  as  the  vision  swept — 'twas  barren  all 

A  place  where  Nature  reign'd  unrivall'd  rude, 
Where  Beauty  made  her  gorgeous  capital, 
And  the  curs'd  foot  of  man  \vas  never  heard  to  fall. 


The  sea,  the  sea!    once  more  we  plow  the  sea, 
Loud  pipe  the  winds  that  curl  the  onward  wave; 

The  sea,  the  sea!    its  billows  fierce  and  free 
Are  terrors  to  the  dull  luxurious  slave, 
Whose  heart  revolts  when  roaring  breezes  rave. 

The  sea,  the  sea!    we  love  its  rushing  foam — 
And  whistling  gales  and  flowing  canvas  crave; 

Let  timid  landsmen  vaunt  their  anchor'd  home — 
Be  ours  the  better  fate — the  boundless  seas  to  roam. 


Such  the  glad  thoughts  that  every  bosom  held 
As  o'er  the  yesty  surge  we  gaily  sail'd; 

Yet  oft  Ben  Ncbo's  feverish  soul  rebell'd — 
Oft  his  long  exile  from  his  land  he  wail'd — 
Oft  in  deep  grief  relentless  Fate  assail'd. 

And  thus  one  night,  as  thro'  the  etherial  blue, 
The  glistering  signs  his  awe-struck  sight  regal'd, 

With  restless  step  he  paced  the  watches  through, 
And  pensive  dreamed  as  they  on  noiseless  pinions  flew. 


And  thus  he  mused:     "Twas  in  the  waning  year 
When  sereing  leaves  presaged  their  coming  doom; 

W7hen  wintry  blasts  deep-sounding  blew  severe 
And  crushed  the  flow'ret  in  its  tardy  bloom, 
That  much-lov'd  Nora  sank  into  the  tomb. 

I  still  can  see  that  pale,  angelic  brow — 
That  lovely  face  a  paler  hue  assume; 

Death's  rugged  coulter  those  sweet  features  plow — 
That  dark  eye  dim — all — all  appear  before  me  now. 


44 


"And  thou  art  dead!    say,  shall  I  e'er  again 

Behold  thee  as  thou  wert  in  hours  before 
The  icy  hand  of  Death  had  on  thee  lain? 

I  know  not.     Who  can  pierce  the  jealous  door 
That  'gainst  us  shuts  the  Future's  mystic  store? 
I  know  not — yet  illusive  wish  would  gild 
The  vision,  and  upon  my  senses  pour 
A  train  of  thought  with  this  dear  fancy  fill'd; 
But  grisled  doubt  succeeds  and  frozen  hope  lies  still'd. 


"And  I  have  loved!"     Aloud  the  steersman  here 

Broke  in  upon  the  muser's  reverie: — 
Quoth  he:     "What  light  is  that  so  red,  yet  clear, 
Whose  lustre  radiates  the  western  sea, 
And  tints  the  stooping  vapors  luridly?" 
Ben  Nebo  gazed  across  the  sullen  gloom 

To  where  a  flickering  glare  upon  the  lee 
Bespoke  some  ship  a- fire.     A  hollow  boom 
Remurmuring  o'er  the  deep,  confirmed    the  fancied  doom. 


"A  ship  on  fire!"  the  up-roused  seamen  cry, 
As  curious  to  the  leeward  rail  they  run; 
Anon  to  indicate  assistance  nigh — 

So  wills  the  chief — discharge  a  signal  gun; 
And  scarce  the  simple  task  is  fully  done, 
Ere  from  the  light  there  comes  another  roar; 

A  minute  gun — we  fire  a  second  one 
In  hoarse  reply.     But  as  we  heard  no  more, 
Braced  on  the  wind  and  tow'rd  the  hapless  vessel  bore, 


It  was  a  grand — a  truly  solemn  sight — 
The  burning  of  that  ship  upon  the  main; 

Afar  there  shone  a  glare  of  ruddy  light, 
As  if  Avernus  bursting  through  its  chain 
Had  spill'd  its  horrors  on  the  watery  plain; 

But  as  we  gazed  the  rueful  scene  upon, 
A  train  of  meteors  lit  the  skies  amain; 

Flames,  sparks,  and  smoke,  commingled  hurtling  on, 
Shook  the  dank  void  and  glared  a  new  Phelegethon. 


45 


And  then  a  sound  like  the  last  trumpet,  loud, 
Hoarse  and  terrific,  roared  along-  the  waste; 

And  high  above  a  black  revolving  cloud 
Through  the  abyss  its  nitrous  volume  trac'd 
Like  some  gigantic  pall  in  ether  plac'd, 

Then  as  the  fiery  ruins  downward  fell, 
Diffusive,  in  effulgent  armor  cased; 

The  roar  disparting  died  across  the  swell, 
And  silence  over  all  resumed  her  torpid  spell. 

'Twas  done!    the  wreck  in  countless  atoms  torn, 
Evanished  from  our  deeply-wondering  gaze; 

So  the  ill-fated  wretch  by  woes  o'er  borne, 
Ends  at  a  stroke  his  sorrow-laden  days, 
And  in  one  last  overwhelming  ruin  lays. 

Such  is  the  stern,  unswerving  law  of  Fate — 
The  smallest  principle  that  law  obeys; 

Man  least  of  all  that  edict  can  rebate, 
It  guides  the  very  will  that  seeks  oblivion's  state. 

Oblivion!    what  a  mystic  word  is  thine! 

Thou  opiate  of  all  sublunary  things; 
Thy  wraith  in  Death's  twin-sister  we  divine 
Congenial  bairn  of  spirit-wounding  stings, 
^  \Yhose  poppy  draught  narcotic  languor  brings. 
Grateful  we  sip;    but  ah!    we  wake  again, 

And  shackless  Thought  like  a  hyena  springs 
Intent  to  rend.     He  clanks  his  riven  chain; 
Sharp-cutting,  wounds  our  peace  and  riots  in  our  pain. 

Let  such  as  in  Voltarian  dreams  delight, 

Draw  solace  from  their  cold  philosophy; 
Believe  that  Death  is  but  enduring  night, 

That  soul  dissolves  when  sense  hath  ceas'd  to  be — 

That  life  is  but  magnetic  energy. 
Let  such  believe — believe  thus  if  they  can; 

He  must  renounce  such  callow  sophistry 
Who  taught  the  inmost  shades  of  thought  to  scan, 
Hath  felt  that  subtle  fire  which  shone  ere  earth  beo-an. 


46 


Can  genius  die?     Go  ask  the  glorious  shades 

Of  the  Immortals,  who  on  Nature's  page 
Graved  in  a  character  that  never  fades 

Their  mighty  glories  to  remotest  age. 

Can  Manfred  die — or  th'  Avonian  sage 
In  stony  crypt  forever  sleep  unknown? 

How  vain  to  ask.     'Gainst  these  the  cycles  wage 
Unequal  war.     Like  gods  they  stand  alone — 
Like  gods  they  make  a  sure  eternity  their  own. 

What  matter  if  the  outer  husk  decay, 

If  the  inherent  germ  existeth  still; 
Or,  if  the  spirit  of  the  germ  shall  stay 

Forever  quickened  and  forever  thrill 

Innumerous  spirits  to  its  sovereign  will. 
Such  the  grand  fate  of  earth's  illustrious  men, 

Whose  god-like  souls  distill'd  such  thoughts  as  fill 
The  eternal  years,  and  with  a  molten  pen 
Imprest  congenial  minds  until  they  glowed  again. 


What  mote  appeareth  on  the  distant  tide 
As  Dawn  emerges  from  her  rosy  bed? 
What  mote  that  draws  the  lookout's  glance  aside, 
As  perched  upon  the  foremast's  dizzy  head, 
He  quests  to  ken  what  ocean  may  bestead? 
"A  boat!    a  boat!''  he  hails  the  watch  on  deck; 

Soon  thro'  the  ship  the  news  is  trumpeted, 
And  the  long  glass  is  levell'd  on  the  speck: 
It  is,  it  is  a  boat — a  relic  of  the  wreck! 


Long  was  the  tug  across  th'  opposing  seas, 
And  slow  that  boat  upon  the  vessel  drew; 

At  length  an  end  to  all  uncertainties 

Appear'd  as  Solus  wheeled  the  vertic  through, 
When  to  our  deck  we  hauled  the  wearied  crew; 

And  when  refreshing  cheer  their  wants  supplied, 
They  told  their  story — one  that  all  might  rue — 

How  took  the  ship  a-fire — and  how  they  tried 
To  still  the  angry  flames,  whose  rage  their  power  defied. 


47 


She  was  a  Lusian  ship  from  Lima,  bound 
For  Lisbon,  with  a  load  of  silver  ore; 

When  three  days  out  a  fierce  tornado  frown'd, 
And  forced  to  scud  at  its  wild  mercy,  bore 
South-west  by-south  for  Pitcairn's  lonely  shore. 

Amid  the  tempest — in  alarm  they  hear 

The  ship's  on  fire!     At  once  the  hold  explore, 

Where  fangs  of  flame  in  hideous  wrath  appear — 
And  aftward  trend,  seen  first  within  the  cable  tier. 


In  vain  they  toiled  to  quench  the  raging  fires, 

That  swept  devouring  through  the  crumbling  shell; 
The  flames  increase;    soon  wearied  strength  expires, 

And  Fate  on  every  billow  seems  to  swell. 

Then  mad  for  life  unto  the  guns  they  fell, 
And  rolled  afar  their  hoarse  funereal  notes, 

Such  as  in  minute  guns  alone  may  dwell; 
Nor  long  these  spoke.     Replied  our  brazen  throats; 
Told  of  assistance  near — and  urged  to  launch  their  boats. 

But  as  the  billows  ran  extremely  high, 

One  boat  was  in  the  act  of  launching  staved, 
And  eighteen  souls  with  one  united  cry 

Sank  in  the  flood;    but  three  its  fury  braved, 
And  nearly  drown'd  were  by  the  pinnace  saved. 
Just  then  her  people  heard  our  cannon  sound, 

And  stood  away  for  succor;    but  so  raved 
^  The  waters,  that  high  noon  was  blazing  round, 
Ere  on  the  trader's  deck,  a  resting  place  they  found. 

And  one  there  was  among  that  fated  train, 

Whom  Memory  oft  in  hue  primeval  shows, 
When  dreaming  o'er  those  faded  scenes,  again 

Some  picture  in  vivific  beauty  glows; 

Celestial   thou  destined  to  many  woes, 
Torn  from  thy  love — an  exile  on  the  deep; 

Till  kindly  Fate  resolved  thy  toils  to  close; 
And  where  Papuan  seas  cerulean  creep, 
On  couch  of  coral  laid  thy  beauteous  shell  may  sleep. 


48 


Yet  why  recall  a  melancholy  theme 

Long  since  in  dumb  negation  cast  away? 
'Tis  futile  o'er  departed  scenes  to  dream, 
Or  the  sad  past  in  pensive  grief  survey. 
The  present  is  not  one  unclouded  day— 
But  actual  sorrows  claim  our  constant  care, 
And  various  terrors  line  our  devious  way; 
Ideal  anguish  fades — dissolves  to  air, 
Beside  the  darker  shapes  that  haunt  us  everywhere. 


Most  sullen  of  the  pangs  that  sully  life — 
Grief  gloomy  hydra  lurks  in  every  heart; 

Ceaseless  until  the  soul-dissevering  knife 

Gives  its  last  keen — its  last  destructive  smart — 
And  bids  the  spirit  from  its  temple  start. 

Man  here  was  made  to  mourn — 'tis  Fate's  decree — 
And  he  who  suffers  most  can  best  depart, 

Can  best  resign  these  scenes  of  misery, 
Can  best  take  the  dread  leap  into  eternity. 


Yet  life's  a  farce,  though  haply  some  may  cry: 

Life  is  no  farce — it  is  a  tragedy, 
Where  each  wan  actor  as  he  passeth  by 
Howls  out  a  lengthen'd  note  of  misery, 
And  shivering  dreads  his  frail  mortality. 
A  farce  hath  merriment — in  life  there's  none; 

'Tis  one  long  woe — devoid  of  pleasantry— 
From  man's  first  wail  until  his  task  be  done 
Tis  one  continual  strife;    best  closed  when  first  begun. 


Still,  life's  a  farce.     Allow  that  there  is  ill 
In  many  things  that  to  this  state  befall; 

Yet  if  gauged  at  their  real  worth,  we  will 
'Discover  that  the  hugest  of  them  all 
Into  the  merest  dwarfs  of  trouble  fall. 

Deaths,  disappointments,  pangs  and  penalties, 
Are  ills  indeed — but  ills  so  very  small 

That  it  is  strange  they  should  disturb  the  ease 
Of  reasoning  beings  versed  in  stern  philosophies. 


49 


To  thoughtful  men  existence  is  a  farce— 

A  play  composed  of  hollow  vagaries 
In  which  the  players  all  one  censor  pass, 

And  fly  like  chaff  before  the  wintry  breeze 

Into  Eternity's  unfathomed  seas. 
All  is  unreal,  heartless,  and  unsound — 

Virtue  and  man  unyielding  enemies; 
The  greatest  ass  is  oft  with  honors  crown'd, 
And  plaudits  greet  the  knave  whose  limbs  no  fetters  bound. 


CANTO     III. 

The  toils  of  seamen,  rulers  of  the  waves, 
Twice  and  again  we  celebrate  in  song; 

Ye  manly  hearts!    who,  when  hoarse  Neptune  raves 
And  Boreas  howls,  excursive  scud  along, 
Proud  of  the  blast — as  merciful  as  strong! 

Sons  of  the  surge!  where'er  the  whirlpools  hiss — 
In  storm-defying  ships — a  fearless  throng 

On  danger's  edge  you  ride!     What  courage  this? 
What  voice  can  sing  your  deeds,  ye  rovers  of  th'  abyss? 


But  lo!    emergent  from  the  gleaming  deep — 
Serenely  fair,  in  hues  prismatic  drest — 

Tahitian  shores  along  the  starboard  creep. 
Long-wished  for  haven  of  auspicious  rest — 
A  glistening  gem  on  ocean's  azure  breast 

Art  thou,  sweet  isle.     Hope  skims  the  rolling  tide 
With  joyful  wing  to  seek  thy  woody  nest, 

And  taste  those  joys  already  dim  descried — 
Utopian  joys,  where  every  sense  is  gratified. 


50 


But  soon,  alas!   these  dreams  illusive  flee, 

And  terror  drapes  th'  extended  prospect  round; 
For  now  alarming  signs  that  storms  decree 

Our  anxious  eyes  with  woeful  glare  astound; 

Three  mighty  zones  the  sickly  moon  surround, 
O'er  the  North  Star  a  blackening  haze  appears, 

While  oft  across  the  heaven's  dark  profound, 
A  lurid  spark  in  rapid  flight  careers; 
Anon  indignant  Jove  hurls  his  electric  spears. 


Swift,  too,  the  silver  in  the  glassy  spire 

Shrinks  with  the  pressure  of  th'  airial  weight; 

Mysterious  agent!    fraught  with  seer-like  fire 
Ether's  incessant  change  to  ante-date, 
And  half  the  seaman's  doubtful  dread  abate. 

Still  lower  shrunk  the  boding  mercury, 
Breaking  the  spell  of  leisure  enervate; 

All  hands  are  rous'd — all  now  alert  must  be, 
For  hark,  the  blust'ring  winds  now  curl  the  jarring  sea! 


North-east-by-east  the  blasts  converging  blew, 
And  fast  the  brig  before  their  fury  sped; 

Till  dark  above  the  murky  verge,  anew 
A  mighty  cliff  uplifts  its  beetling  head, 
And  o'er  the  crew  presaging  terrors  shed; 

For  futile  now  to  clear  the  threat'ning  edge, 
By  naked  masts  whence  every  sail  has  lied; 

Yet  none  despair;    we  may  not  round  the  ledge, 
But  on  the  beach  escape  the  sea's  engulfing  dredge. 


In  this  distress,  while  horror  froze  our  blood, 

Instant  elapsed  all  thought  of  danger  past; 
For  to  each  eye,  above  the  angry  flood, 

Of  every  peril  we  beheld  the  last. 

Already  Fancy  sees  us  shipwreck'd,  cast 
Torn,  dumb,  and  bleeding  from  the  raging  waves; 

Or  seaward  urged,  in  hopeless  fear  aghast 
Sank  in  the  stifling  surge  to  nameless  graves, 
Where  the  voracious  newt  his  hideous  banquet  craves. 


Stars  of  the  storm!  twin  brothers  placed  on  high, 
Who  erst  were  saviors  of  storm-beaten  crews, 

Say,  now,  where  is  thy  aid?  Loud,  loud  we  cry, 
Bright  pair!  thy  sea-composing  bands  to  loose, 
Nor  more  resistless  winds  awide  diffuse. 

In  vain,  in  vain — as  merciless  and  bleak 
As  the  hail-volley  cold — ye  glint  obtuse, 

Whilst  coastward  drives  the  wreck;    soon  its  huge  beak 
Grates  on  the  snapping  rock,  and  wild  the  drowning  shriek. 


The  waves  where'er  they  list,  the  ruins  urge 
Fierce-crashing  as  they  smite  the  flinty  coast; 

Amid  them,  drove  before  the  howling  surge, 
Ben  Nebo  shoreward  hastes.     Of  all  the  host 
He  and  the  mate  but  scaped  th'  infernal  ghost, 

And  shivering  issued  from  the  yawning  seas; 

The  rest  were  lost;    they  and  their  floating  boast 

Found  a  release  from  all  calamities, 
And  as  a  holocaust  did  Neptune's  wrath  appease. 


Prone  on  the  beach  the  dumb  survivors  lay, 
Left  as  they  fell  by  the  retreating  wave, 

Till  life  relit  its  frail  and  fluttering  ray 

just  glimmering  on  the  margin  of  the  grave, 
And  to  their  shells  again  the  spirit  gave. 

Then  Nebo  rose;    then  next  the  hardy  mate 
Crept  from  the  sea;    and  in  a  winding  cave 

That  scoop'd  the  toppling  cliff,  they  weary  sate, 
And  sullenly  bewailed  their  sorrow-darken'd  state. 

And  there  throughout  the  lingering  night,  they  held 
Their  fearful  vigils  in  that  dismal  cell; 

Whilst  ceaselessly  without,  the  breakers  swell'd, 
And  in  sonorous  murmurs  seemed  to  knell 
A  funeral  chant  above  the  dead,  who  fell 

Untimely  coffined  in  the  bleak  abyss; 
Anon  attentive  Fancy  in  each  swell 

Caught  whispers  sad — the  requiems  of  bliss — 
Foretelling  coming  ills  dark  as  the  shade  of  Dis. 


52 


But  Morn's  effulgent  light  their  gloom  dispels, 
And  wins  them  from  their  desolate  abode; 

Away  they  haste — explore  the  bosky  dells, 

And  tread  the  glebes  with  artocarpus  strowed, 

Or  wind  the  slopes  where  brawling   streamlets  flowed. 

All  pleasure  yield;    prolific  Nature  here 

Unequall'd  gifts  dispensed,  and  radiant  showed 

Her  loveliest  phases  through  the  changeless  year; 
Adoring  bent  our  men,  and  soothed  their  grief  austere. 


Fatigued  at  length,  within  a  cool  retreat 
They  shelter  seek  from  the  meridian  blaze; 

A  mango-wood  repels  the  flaming  heat, 

And  to  each  breath  in  rustling  tremor  plays, 
Whilst  beauteous  prospects  open  to  their  gaze. 

Here  vernal  glades  in  serried  vistas  lie; 

There  palm-trees  nod;    here  tamarinds  fleck  the  maze; 

There  monkeys  mewl;    here  gaudy  parrots  cry; 
There  solemn  woods  appal;    here  meadows  charm  the  eye. 


While  thus  our  heroes  lay  upon  the  ground, 

Musing  on  what  their  wand'ring  sight  could  find, 

They  marked  a  chain  of  hills  the  vision  bound, 
And  rise  against  the  western  sky,  defined 
With  striking  clearness.     Thence  their  gaze  assigned, 

When  lo!    reared  on  an  isolated  cone 
A  warlike  ruin  stands,  and  to  each  rnind 

Recalls  those  strongholds  which  by  age  o'erthrown, 
Still  on  Europa's  lands  like  broken  .gems  are  strown. 


And  much  they  pondered  on  that  ruin  eld, 

And  marveled  by  whose  hands  its  walls  were  made; 

Yet  as  they  looked,  Ben  Nebo  dazed,  beheld 
The  mate's  stem  features  wear  a  darker  shade, 
And  nervous  throes  his  stalwart  form  invade. 

But  these  soon  pass'd;    the  ruling  wish  prevailed; 
Both  men  no  longer  on  the  green-sward  laid, 

But  rose;    and  by  no  vagueful  terrors  quailed, 
They  gained  the  hillock's  brow  and  thence  the  fortress  scaled. 


•UBRA^- 

OF   THR 

UNIVERSITY 


53 


They  knocked:    unanswered  were  their  sounding  blows 
Save  by  the  echoes  from  the  neighboring  bights, 

Or  shriller  cries  of  parrots,  that  uprose 

From  a  thick  copse.     Again  our  hardy  wights 
Their  summons  beat;    no  sound;    but  wilder  flights 

Of  the  twice-startled  birds.     They  knock  no  more; 
Ben  Nebo's  eye  upon  a  pass  alights; 

An  olive's  stem  from  its  foundation  tore, 
Serves  at  a  stroke  to  burst  the  age-decaying  door. 


It  fell:   they  stood  within  a  spacious  hall, 

With  arms  of  every  structure  girt  around; 
Quaint  armor  rusted  on  the  crumbling  wall, 

Or  clasped  in  moss  decayed  upon  the  ground; 

All  they  beheld  in  ruin  lay  imbound. 
Here  the  last  relics  of  a  daring  crew 

In  this  lone  cell  a  sepulcher  had  found, 
Whilst  those  who  erst  their  hardy  usage  knew, 
Beneath  the  gelid  wave  might  ocean's  floor  bestrew. 


Now  twilight  on  the  varied  landscape  fell, 

And  glimmer'd  through  the  oriel  of  the  tower, 

Rousing  the  owlet  from  his  mortised  cell, 

And  the  dim  bat  from  sleep's  occlusive  power, 
On  prey  intent  to  course  the  nightly  hour. 

And  then  Ben  Nebo  marked  a  darker  change 

Come  o'er  the  mate:    his  brows  despondent  lower, 

And  aspen-like  he  shook;    convulsion  strange 
In  one  who  lustily  bestrode  th'  uneven  range. 


Ben  Nebo  gazed  upon  the  man  askance, 

And  pondered  on  the  grief  his  face  betrayed; 
Then  gently  asked  its  cause — a  frenzied  glance 
Shot  from  the  mate's  dark  eye;    he  seem'd  afraid, 
But  curbed  his  fear  and  then  to  speak  essayed: 
"Last  eve,"  quoth  he,   "as  wandering  by  the  shore 

I  pensive  walked,  there  rose  a  hideous  shade 
From  out  the  deep;    and  like  a  mist  before 
My  awe-struck  vision  pass'd;   then  lost 'twas  seen  no  more. 


54 


"  Aghast  I  stood.     But  oft  in  years  agone 

Had  I  unblanched  beheld  this  goblin  rise; 
But  now  its  grisled  terrors  smite  upon 
My  spirit  with  a  frenzy,  that  defies 
Mere  human  strength.     E'en  now  his  awful  size 
Before  me  looms.     Avaunt!     But  this  despite, 

Let  me  rehearse  a  tale  that  sleepless  lies 
In  memory's  urn.     With  gory  ills  bedight, 
Long  hath  it  groaned  within  Seclusion's  shadowy  night. 


"This  tower  was  once  a  famous  pirate-haunt; 

From  here  Bias  Matsi  issued  for  the  main, 
With  his  prize-loving  lads,  his  flag  to  vaunt, 
To  chase,  to  pillage,  and  by  arms  obtain 
From  booty-laden  ships  the  shining  gain. 
For  years  the  tyrant  of  the  flood  confest, 

No  hostile  cruisers  could  his  course  restrain; 
Fearless  he  roved  where'er  he  cared  to  quest — 
A  gallant  chief  was  he — pride  of  each  corsair  breast. 


"Those  were  brave  days:    among  his  lusty  crew 

I  then  a  youth  was  a  fore-top-man  found; 
And  divers  brisk  affairs  passed  boldly  through 
Had  made  my  name  above  the  rest  renown'd, 
Whilst  added  wealth  my  rising  prospects  crown'd. 
But  yet  no  dreams  of  mere  preferment  rose 

With  sordid  pang  my  early  bloom  to  wound; 
I  fought  from  instinct — loved  hardhanded  blows — 
And  felt  upon  the  wave  the  equal  of  all  foes. 


"But  Fate  is  stern:    once  off  Gilolo's  shore, 

In  a  smooth  sea  and  with  a  sinking  wind, 
A  British  cruiser  down  upon  us  bore, 

And  her  broadside  upon  our  quarter  lined. 
Our  men  to  their  appointed  posts  assigned 
Stood  to  their  arms,  all  resolute,  prepared 

To  rake  the  Briton,  till  her  lads  should  find 
That  rogues  could  do  what  rogues  had  ever  dared, 
And  when  their  blood  was  up  for  man  nor  devil  cared. 


55 


"The  battle  opened;    and  a  cannon  shot 

Dread-whistling  bold  Bias  Matsi  overthrew; 
And  prone  he  gasped  upon  the  fatal  spot 
Where  he  had  often  taught  the  foe  to  rue 
They  e'er  assailed  him  and  his  daring  crew; 
But  ah!    his  loss  we  vainly  could  repair; 

In  nautic  skill — in  gunnery — but  few 
His  equals  were;    in  danger  first  to  dare; 
He  well  could  guide  the  bark  and  guard  the  secret  lair. 


"He  fell;   two  rivals  for  his  post  arose: 

Dave  Vangs,  a  son  of  rude  Northumbria's  shore, 
Whose  cutlass  foremost  gleam'd  in  battle's  close, 
Unwilling  sheathed  till  hope  of  blood  was  o'er; 
Next  to  the  chief  a  second  rank  he  bore; 
Yet  as  command  the  general  voice  conferr'd, 

So  none  by  right  of  station  ever  wore 
The  chieftain's  plume.     To  Vangs  the  most    demurr'd- 
A  flinty  hearted  man  who  mercy  deemed  absurd. 


"His  rival  was  myself.     I  simply  placed 

My  cause  in  deeds  and  not  in  vainful  boasts; 
I,  too,  as  oft  the  jaws  of  danger  faced, 

And  burthened  Stygia  with  untimely  ghosts, 
When  foemen  trespass'd  on  our  guarded  coasts. 
Our  claims  acknowledg'd,  lots  by  all  were  drawn, 
And  soon  the  issue  reach'd  th'  assembled  hosts; 
Vangs,  who  ambition  lured,  had  learned  to  fawn, 
And  gained  by  specious  arts  the  men  he  held  in  scorn. 


"He  won;    but  still  the  action  was  opposed, 

And  discontent  prevailed  among  the  crew, 
While  those  who  hated  him,  together  closed, 
And  swore  that  ere  the  waning  moon  was  new 
He  should  his  transitory  honor  rue. 
I  counselled  peace,  and  sought  by  every  wile 

To  quench  the  murmurs  that  portentous  grew; 
But  all  in  vain,  for  as  we  made  the  isle 
We  rose  in  arms  and  wrought  in  true  seafaring  style. 


56 


"I  can  recall  the  deed,  though  years  in  flight 

Have  borne  it  to  the  cloudy  past  away; 
Still  now  it  rises  in  rekindled  light 
As  plain  as  if  it  happed  but  yesterday. 
For  there  are  things  that  never  can  decay, 
Though  deep  we  hide  them  in  negation's  mine; 
And  when  we  deem  they  are  unspeaking  clay, 
They  wake  and  fright  us  with  a  voice  malign, 
And  in  their  sinewy  coils  the  stoutest  heart  entwine. 


"As  sunk  the  Pleiads  in  the  leaden  brine, 

And  winds  blew  light  from  Oyolava's  land, 
The  signal  rang;   and  bent  on  ill  design 
In  grim  array  appeared  th'  rebellious  band. 
To  strife  they  fell;    dealt  with  such  lusty  hand 
That  at  their  mercy  soon  the  vessel  laid; 

But  still  unconquered  Vangs  applied  his  brand, 
And  on  their  ranks  a  dread  impression  made; 
The  bravest  at  his  rage  uncertain  stood  dismay'd. 


"At  once  the  jarring  rovers  to  compose, 

And  bring  the  Briton  to  an  early  peace, 
I  headlong  pushed  among  the  clenching  foes, 
And  shouting,  bade  the  work  of  carnage  cease. 
The  combat  lulled;    and  as  by  slow  degrees 
Order  returned,  I  challenged  Vangs  to  try 

A  single  combat.     Flash'd  like  fire  his  krees, 
And  dark  his  scowl  and  fierce  his  angry  eye; 
Ere  long  we  closed  in  wrath — to  conquer  or  to  die. 


"With  cruel  force  my  foeman  plied  his  brand, 

His  blood  was  hot  in  ire;    the  fiery  glow 
Of  his  wild  eyes  gleam'd  wilder,  as  his  hand 
That  oft  had  caused  the  gory  streams  to  flow 
Aimed  to  inflict  a  last— a  fatal  blow. 
In  vain  I  sought  to  beat  his  strokes  aside, 

My  arm  was  powerless  'gainst  so  dread  a  foe, 
And  when  at  length  a  desperate  lunge  I  tried, 
I  caught  his  point  and  fell,  bathed  in  a  crimson  tide. 


"My  wound  was  sharp.     All  feeling  fled  before 

The  shock  that  paralyzed  the  vital  stream; 
And  senseless  to  my  berth  the  seamen  bore 

My  blood-grim'd'form.     There  with  uncertain  gleam 
Life's  taper  burned.     At  length  the  doubtful  dream 
Passed  o'er,  and  by  degrees  my  strength  renew'd. 

But  fast  in  durance  pent,  no  sunny  beam 
With  genial  warmth — Nature's  inspiring  food — 
My  energies  awoke,  by  mingled  ills  subdued. 


"Thus  I  remain'd,  whilst  on  our  course  we  stood— 

Bound  homeward  to  our  long-forsaken  isle — 
When  one  dark  night,  as  in  a  dreary  mood 
I  sought  in  sleep  my  anguish  to  beguile, 
I  heard  o'er-head,  shouts,  maledictions  vile, 
And  Vangs'  deep  voice  o'er  all  arising  higher; 

Intent  I  heard;    and  in  a  little  while 
The  awful  truth  flashed  on  my  senses  dire; 
Grim  fear  upon  me  seized — -the  vessel  was  on  fire! 


"In  frantic  rage  my  prison  bars  I  beat, 

For  now  the  boats  were  filling  with  the  crew; 
Each  moment  too,  increased  the  scorching  heat, 
As  more  abaft  the  flames  devouring  flew; 
And  then  I  gazed'  my  cabin  window  through, 
And  felt  augmented  horror  o'er  me  creep, 

As  swift  the  boats  receded  from  my  view 

Across  the  smooth  and  molten-bosomed  deep; 

Anon  for  help  implored  or  hopeless  sank  to  weep. 


"But  sudden  on  my  ear  there  fell  a  sound 
Of  oars,  and  gazing  o'er  the  lurid  tide, 
Amid  the  pitchy  smoke  that  drifted  round, 
A  boat  with  one  lone  oarsman  I  descried; 
Hope  flashed  anew.     My  voice  for  aid  I  plied; 
He  heard — he  paused — then  swiftly  row'd  away. 

I  thought  him  gone;    but  soon  the  door  awide 
Was  thrown,  and  ere  I  could  delight  betray, 
Dave  Vangs  himself  appeared  my  terror  to  allay. 


58 


"Forth  through  the  suffocating  heat  he  led 

Me  to  the  pinnace,  and  when  set  within, 

With  nervous  strokes  across  the  deep  we  sped; 

For  ever  and  anon — with  sounding  din — 

Shot  from  the  heated  guns  began  to  spin 

Above  our  heads.     Beyond  this  cannonade 

We  paused  to  watch  the  fiery  demon  win 
Its  rapid  way.     Ere  long  the  flames  invade 
The  powder  store;    and  lo!    in  ruin  all  is  laid! 


"We  suffered  much;    but  as  the  wind  was  fair, 

Held  the  light  skiff  before  the  veering  foam. 
Three  days  elapse;   when,  through  the  ambient  air, 
Like  a  blue  vapor,  loom'd  our  islet-home; 
And  just  as  Twilight's  glimmer  'gan  to  gloam, 
Shot  o'er  the  bar  and  moored  upon  the  strand, 
Thankful  for  life — resolved  no  more  to  roam 
From  the  safe-circuit  of  the  genial  land; 
Thus  musing  hied  away  and  pleased  each  object  scann'd. 


"With  weary  feet  we  sought  this  lonely  tower, 

Where  fixed  remained  a  section  of  our  band 
To  guard  the  spoil,  lest  in  an  evil  hour 

Invasive  keels  should  pass  the  circling  sand, 
And  fell  possession  of  the  isle  demand. 
To  these  lorn  comrades  we  rehearsed  our  tale — 
So  sad  but  few  its  influence  could  withstand — 
And  mingled  with  the  dull  vibrating  gale 
Was  manhood's  broken  groan  and  woman's    plaintive  wail, 


"But  who  with  heart  a-breaking,  most  bewailed 

The  missing  brave,  who  most  in  pity  sighed, 
Like  thee,  Timandra!     Thou  whose  glance  assailed 
My  inmost  soul,  that  conscious  vainly  tried 
To  turn  the  woe-presaging  shaft  aside. 
Thou  fair  Timandra,  how  I  worshipped  thee! 

How  for  thee  suffered,  since  my  hand  was  dyed 
With  that  red  stain  which  blots  whate'er  I  see, 
And  conjures  goblins  foul  that  rack  me  hideously! 


"Ah,  well  I  loved  thee!     For  thee  I  yearned 

With  an  intensity,  hot  as  the  rays 
Of  Barca's  sun!     Ay,  loved  when  passion  spurned, 
Merged  into  one  fierce  bolt — one  hellish  blaze 
That  still  within  my  scorching  bosom  plays! 
But  why  arouse  the  dead?     Why  from  their  tomb 

The  spectres  of  a  grisled  past  upraise  ? 
What  though  Vangs  won  thee?     In  nocturnal  gloom 
Deep  in  yon  stagnant  pool  he  met  a  murderous  doom ! 


"I  slew  him;    and  his  gurgling  sobs,  as  crept 
The  whelming  eddies  o'er  his  gelid  mold, 
Into  my  ears  like  stygian  peans  leapt. 

Fierce  was  my  joy;    and  short  as  fierce,  there  roll'd 
Amid  those  strains  a  subtler  note  that  told 
Of  peace  departed.     From  that  hour  I  bore 

The  mark  of  Cain,  that  where,  or  sea  or  wold 
I  chanced  a  fugitive  to  wander  o'er, 
Confest  my  crime — that  crime  that  steept  my  soul  in  gore. 


"It  matters  not  to  tell  how  I  escaped 

From  this  curst  isle — the  region  of  that  crime; 
Or  how  through  weary  years  my  course  1  shaped, 
Until  besprinkled  with  the  frosts  of  time, 
A  hopeless  man,  I  sought  this  lonely  clime. 
'Twas  tenantless.     Amazed  I  groped  around, 

And  near  yon  palms  that  to  the  sea-winds  chime, 
I,  choked  with  grief,  espied  a  grassy  mound 
Marked  by  a  wooden  cross  with  clustering  blossoms  crowned. 


"Timandra's  grave!     Amid  the  clasping  turf 

She  sleeps  in  trance  unbroken — sleeps  though  shrill 
The  keen  winds  whistle — and  the  rumbling  surf 
Sonorous  thunders;    or  from  yonder  hill 
The  cowering  birds  with  cries  the  concave  fill. 
She  sleeps!     With  her  my  fondest  hopes  are  laid, 

With  her  shall  they  remain,  entombed,  until 
Th'  imperious  voice  of  Fate  shall  bid  my  shade 
Launch  from  its  ashy  coil  and  ghostly  realms  invade!" 


The  pirate  ceased:    as  closed  his  story  grim, 

Aurora  smiled  above  the  eastern  hills; 
The  woods  resound,  and  through  the  azure  dim 

In  golden  eddies  foam  the  moaning  rills. 

Nature  awakes;    her  pulse  the  landscape  thrills, 
And  all  with  life  inspires.     Our  men  uprose 

And  hasty  sought  their  cheer.     Ben  Nebo  wills 
The  forest  to  explore — thenceward  he  goes; 
His  comrade  into  life  the  arid  tinder  blows. 


Anon  when  rural  fare  their  hunger  fed, 

The  circumjacent  lands  around  they  rove, 
And  jocund  view  spontaneous  bounties  spread 

O'er  mountain,  glen,  and  solemn-looking  grove. 

Long  thus  they  rambled,  till  a  thicket  wove 
With  heat-excluding  woof,  to  rest  invites. 

Here  stretch'd  at  length,  across  a  glassy  cove, 
They  saw  astounded,  from  the  neighboring  heights, 
Titanic  moas  wing  their  long,  laborious  flights. 


While  thus  in  idlesse  prone  the  seamen  lay, 
Watchful  of  what  their  vision  pass'd  before, 

Ben  Nebo's  thoughts  were  wand'ring  far  away, 
And  often  sought  his  long  forsaken  shore — 
That  shore  which  he  might  never  visit  more. 

And  musing  thus  his  thoughts  began  to  lower. 
Congenial  to  the  winds,  that  whisp'ring  o'er 

The  distant  seas,  sighed  thro'  the  nemorous  bower, 
And  filled  with  pensive  dreams  the  spirit-soothing  hour. 

Then  Nora's  charms  in  added  freshness  rose, 
And  woke  to  voice  the  love-inspiring  song; 

From  his  distilling  lips  the  measure  flows 
In  nervous  verse — in  mellow  tide  along, 
As  thousand  beauteous  scenes  his  fancy  throng. 

Of  love  he  sang,  whence  sprang  its  mystic  birth, 
Its  mystic  chain  that  binds  the  weak  and  strong, 

Or  bends  to  anguish  or  exalts  to  mirth, 
All  that  as  mortals  press  the  air-suspended  earth. 


or  THB 
UNIVERSITY 


61 


As  the  sweet  image  rose  before  his  mind — 

Thought  he,  no  other  with  such  charms  could  vie; 
For  Love  is  selfish,  arrogant  and  blind. 

And  prone  to  cheat  the  most  experienced  eye; 

Besides,  by  nature  being  rather  sly 
He  rollicks  in  a  good,  clean-cutting  jest, 

Nor  cares  how  deep  love-smitten  creatures  sigh; 
How  swains  go  mad;    how  feverish  maidens  rest; 
Or  how  the  grandam  coos  with  spasms  in  her  breast. 


Ere  yet  the  crescent  reached  the  middle  dome, 
Both  heroes  trod  the  steep-ascending  road, 

Rejoiced  to  gain  their  rude,  but  friendly  home, 
And  cast  aside  their  heart-oppressive  load 
In  slumber's  torpid  spell.     But  dreams  forebode 

The  wished  enchantment;   troubled  they  repose; 
Within  each  sleeper  thoughts  tumultuous  rode — 

In  slumber-breaking  hosts—presaging  woes 
Portentous  which  no  mere  word-painting  can  disclose. 


Ben  Nebo  vainly  sought  to  fall  asleep; 

Keen  were  his  senses — feverish  they  wrought 
In  tempest  visions  such  as  darkling  sweep 

Through  some  Byronic  soul  by  Angels  taught 

To  sing  the  terrors  of  Immortal  thought. 
He  tost,  he  murmur'd,  as  along  they  cours'd, 

Till  all  the  darkness  seem'd  with  spectres  fraught; 
Then,  horrified,  from  his  deep  silence  forc'd, 
He  hailed  his  comrade:    long  the  two  sad  men  discours'd. 


And  thus  the  mate:     " Perchance   these  dreams   are  sent 

As  subtle  warnings  of  some  peril  laid 
By  foes  unknown,  yet  primed  with  fell  intent 

Our  lives  to  end.     But  by  this  mystic  aid 

We  may  the  dangers  of  the  hour  evade,'"' 
He  said.     The  twain  uprose;    throughout  that  night 

With  nervous  steps  bestrode  the  dewy  glade; 
When  in  alarm  Ben  Nebo  saw  a  light 
Fixed  on  the  barren  shore  below  the  turret's  hight. 


62 


He  then  his  comrade  hailed;    both  men  alarmed 

Gazed  on  the  light,  which,  as  the  air  was  clear, 
Proved  a  huge  fire,  by  wild-men  lit,  who  swarmed 

Around  the  whirling  blaze  in  rude  career. 

Till  dawn  our  sailors  watched  in  livid  fear 
The  blacks  carouse;    when  in  periguas  stowed 

They  stood  away.     Once  from  the  island  sheer. 
Our  seamen  to  the  smould'ring  embers  strode, 
And  there  beheld  a  sight  that  man's  foul  nature  showed. 


There,  cast  about  the  ashes,  did  appear 

Fragments  of  human  flesh;    dark  clots  of  gore 

And  bones  black-singed,  grim  relics  of  the  cheer 
Which  had  sufficed  the  cannibals,  when  o'er 
The  waters  roaming,  on  this  lonesome  shore 

They  landed  to  partake  their  hideous  fare. 
Sick  at  the  sight  our  heroes  homeward  bore, 

Musing  on  what  they  saw;    and  loth  to  spare 
The  next  swart  troop  that  should  invade  their  lonely  lair. 


But  scarce  they  left  the  foul-ensanguin'd  scene, 
When  Nebo  roused  a  black,  who  fast  asleep 

Had  laid  a  copse  of  sago-trees  between. 
Woke  by  th'  intrusion,  with  a  sudden  leap 
He  rose,  and  fled  so  swiftly,  as  to  keep 

Our  seamen  far  behind,  though  hot  to  slay 
The  flying  wretch.     At  length  a  rocky  steep 

Enveiled  him  from  pursuit.     There  hid  he  lay 
Till  the  blue  waters  drank  the  fading  hues  of  day; 


Then  cat-like  out  he  came.     In  quest  of  prey 
Pie  sought  the  offals  of  the  ghastful  feast; 

But  by  our  heroes  seen,  they  dogged  his  way 
As  hunters  dog  some  dread,  ferocious  beast, 
Nor  till  the  spot  was  reached  this  duty  ceased. 

But  as  from  out  the  wood  they  boldly  prest 
The  savage  turned — his  inky  visage  creased — 

And  ere  a  death  shot  could  the  deed  arrest, 
Th'  illfated  mate  received  a  javelin  in  his  breast. 


As  sinks  the  shotted  corse  beneath  the  wave, 

So  sank  the  mate  at  that  death-dealing  blow; 
Yet  ere  his  spirit  to  the  winds  he  gave, 
Ben  Nebo's  musket  laid  the  slayer  low- 
Yet  poorly  recompensed  his  poignant  woe. 
Then  on  the  mate's  remains  he  sadly  gazed, 

And  mused  on  things  but  the  afflicted  know- 
Things  that  grim-shapen  nigh  his  reason  crazed, 
Which  doleful   Horror  from  his  devilish  gulfs  upraised. 


All  things  must  perish.     Once  their  work  is  done, 

All  in  negation  must  dissolve  away; 
The  noble  oak  when  its  last  sand  has  run 

Shall  only  later  than  frail  man  decay; 

But  later  still  the  Pyramids  shall  lay 
In  atoms  prone,  and  Earth,  still  later  rent, 

Shall  like  these  all  Destruction's  law  obey. 
All,  all  must  perish,  such  their  chief  intent, 
From  chaos  first  they  came  in  chaos  to  be  blent. 


Ay,  all  must  perish:    nought  of  earth  can  stand 

The  ever-gnawing  tooth  of  deathful  Time 
That  eats  into  all  things.     Man's  temples  grand; 

His  proudest  columns;    empires  reared  sublime; 

The  mind's  great  efforts;    Nature's  wonders  prime, 
In  his  sharp  fang  succumb.     Thus  Allah  wills — 

They  rise  spontaneous;    at  th'  appointed  chime 
Expiring  sink.     The  mightiest  globe  that  fills 
The  depthless  void  for  naught  its  wondrous  power  distills. 


'Tis  evening's  hour.     The  dying  orb  of  day 
Veils  his  last  gleam  beyond  the  purple  sea, 

As  sad  Ben  Nebo  wends  his  lonely  way 

Down  the  steep  hill  and  o'er  the  winding  lea, 
To  where  a  trench  beneath  a  rifted  tree 

Wnde-gaping  yawns.     Here  must  the  mate  repose; 
His  oft-selected  tomb,  and  near  where  she, 

Timandra,  whom  he  loved,  when  living  chose 
As  her  eternal  crypt  when  life's  black  dream  should  close. 


Whilst  his  dull  task  the  pensive  man  pursues, 

Excursive  sorrows  through  his  bosom  stream; 
Again  the  chequered  past  his  mind  reviews, 

And  scans  a  lengthened  waste,  where  scarce  a  gleam 
Of  light  breaks  thro'  the  gloom — where  horrors  teem 
And  all  is  turmoil,  doubt  and  wretchedness; 

Such  the  dark  thoughts — unlit  by  cheering  beam- 
That  his  afflicted  spirit  earthward  press; 
Until  he  doubted  life  and  longed  for  nothingness. 


In  vain!     Who  can  reverse  his  orbit  here, 
Or  guide  his  being  as  his  sovereign  mind  ? 

Who  shape  his  course  as  his  own  timoneer, 
Or  sail  without  an  over-ruling  wind — 
Who  mauger  Fate  can  journey  unconfined  ? 

Man's  but  the  toy  of  an  omniscient  power, 

Whose  foresight  hath  his  farthest  acts  designed, 

Hath  sent  him  here  to  mewl  his  little  hour, 
And  wither  at  a  blast  like  the  frost-bitten  flower. 


His  day  is  closed  before  his  Morn's  begun — 
Ere  yet  the  grain  is  ripe  the  scythe  resounds — 

At  one  fell  swoop  his  life-inspiring  sun 

From  beaming  light  into  grim  darkness  bounds, 
Like  downy-blossomed  plants  o'er  meadow  grounds 

By  winds  impelled,  his  flying  years  succeed, 
One  raven  shadow  all  his  sky  surrounds, 

And  dim  the  ray  that  may  his  spirit  lead; 
Here  till  his  work  be  done,  unhappy  man  must  bleed. 


Yet  Allah  ruleth  all — in  Him  we  move, 
In  Him  our  being  have,  our  bents  pursue; 

He  prompts  to  toil,  he  leads  mankind  above; 
He  bathes  the  landscape  in  its  varied  hue, 
And  wheels  the  stars  etherial  orbits  through. 

All,  all  are  full  of  Him:    the  Seasons  raise 
Their  thankful  homage  as  they  sweep  anew; 

And  man,  vain  man  should  join  the  votive  praise — 
Extolling  the  great  Source,  of  all  that  he  surveys. 


(55 


The  crow  is  chanting1  on  the  rifted  ledge, 

Loud-roarings  echo  from  the  deep,  where' white, 
'Gainst  billow-breaking  rocks  along  the  edge. 

Hoarse  beats  the  surge.     No  more  in  serried  flight 
The  wild-ducks  fly;    but  on  the  sheltered  hight 
Condensed  await  in  expectation  still 

The  gathering  storm.     Anon  in   rising  might 
Upsurging  ocean  chafes;    shores  whistle  shrill; 
Crags  moan;  woods  nodding  roar,  and  howls  the  topmost  hi 

As  night  o'er  all  her  sable  mantle  spread, 

Ben  Nebo  sought  the  solitary  tower, 
And  whilst  the  embers  weird  reflections  shed, 

He  close-encoiled  in  Retrospection's  power 

In  doleful  thought  beguiled  the  wintry  hour; 
Xo  soothing  slumber  lulled  that  thought  to  rest, 

But  fiery  pangs  his  deepest  soul  devour; 
Love  still  a  vigil  kept  within  his  breast, 
And  by  the  sounds  without  still  deeper  was  imprest. 

Imbound  in  moody  dreams  he  drooping  bent 

Before  the  lurid  and  inconstant  blaze- 
Heedless  of  all — on  his  own  woes  intent — 

Though  rude  without  the  blust'ring  tempest  plays, 
And  blows  the  flame  a  thousand  different  ways. 
But  he,  sad  hermit  in  his  ruined  cell, 

Disowns  the  present,  and  the  past  surveys; 
By  sorrow  taught  within  himself  to  d well- 
He  breathed  on  earth  but  lived  in  climes  invisible. 


LOAN  PtWOL) 


DEPARTMENT 

•*• 

3 
6 


FORM  NO.  DD6 


